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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25819207">Ex on the Beach</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/pseuds/spidermanhomecomeme'>spidermanhomecomeme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angry Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Tension, Bad Puns, Beaches, Cunnilingus, Emotional Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Exes, F/M, Humor, Idiots, Makeup, Michelle Jones is Petty, Peter Parker Is Petty, Post-Break Up, Smut with Feelings(tm), Unresolved Emotional Tension, Vaginal Fingering, Weddings, betty's mom has got it goin on, everyone is petty, let's go to the beach beach, the both of them</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:42:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>66,492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25819207</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/pseuds/spidermanhomecomeme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>An entire week in O'ahu is something that before, he might have looked forward to. Seven days of warm sand and crystal clear waters. Seven days of sunrise and sunset surfing. Seven days of paradise. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Before all the arguing, before all the heartbreak, maybe. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But now...</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Now, Peter's wondering if it's too late to cancel his flight.</em>
</p>
<p>After an ugly break-up, Peter and MJ are forced to set aside their resentment for each other as they attend the destination wedding of their two best friends. Three months should be plenty of time to heal. They should both be over it by now... Right?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Background Happy Hogan/May Parker - Relationship, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, background Betty Brant/Ned Leeds, background Miles Morales/Gwen Stacy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>351</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>286</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Battle of the Exes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>AND WE ARE BACK!!! With another enemies to lovers!! or should I say.... lovers to enemies to lovers? Oh well! I'm so excited to share this one with you guys. It's been so fun to work on and I hope you all enjoy it!! I wanna thank spideysmj, you-guys-are-losers, and forasecondtherewedwon for letting me scream at you guys about this fic!! big hearts to all of you &lt;3</p>
<p>This fic will be seven chapters long, and each chapter will equal one day! So chapter two will be... day two lol</p>
<p>Also, I am (now) aware of the TV show "Ex on the Beach" but i was not aware of it before working on this fic.... it's not an au of the show lmao</p>
<p>Anyway, hope you guys like this one!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>"Attention, passengers!"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gate agent's chipper voice barely registers over the blaring sound of Smash Mouth in Peter's headphones. Something or other about the flight to Honolulu will be boarding at Gate </span>
  <em>
    <span>blah blah blah</span>
  </em>
  <span> in just </span>
  <em>
    <span>blah-teen</span>
  </em>
  <span> minutes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He bounces his leg, fingers drumming a hiccuping rhythm against his thighs to match the beat of the music. Under normal circumstances, it'd be a mindless action. Most of the time, it's not something he even realizes he's doing. Now, it's forced. It's an effort to seem nonchalant despite every nerve in his body begging for flight. In reality, sitting here across from Ned and Betty as they look at their phones while simultaneously holding hands, with a solid four chairs between himself and Michelle, has Peter's insides feeling as if someone's doused them in gasoline and dropped a match. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Against the screaming voice in his head telling him not to, he spares quick, fleeting glances in her direction. Even though her eyes remain stubbornly glued to her phone, he knows for a fact that she can see him. It's the sixth sense of hers that he's learned in the years he's known her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She's just observant like that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His jaw sets, a bitter taste in his mouth as he turns his attention to the couple across from them. There's a faint, annoying prickling behind his eyes as he watches two of his best friends in the world hold hands as they stare at their phones. Betty unconsciously leans her head on Ned's shoulder, and in turn, he turns and places a quick peck on her forehead, her lips quirking into a small smile at the sweet gesture. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty puts her phone down, resting her hand atop their already joined ones, the ring on her finger sparkling prettily under the fluorescent airport lights. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter tears his gaze away, biting his cheek as he whips his phone out again. Almost instantly, he tries to shake away the creeping jealousy, dragged down to reality by a guilty pang in his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned and Betty haven't done anything wrong. Of course they haven't. Being young and in love, filled to the brim with excitement for their upcoming life of wedded bliss, isn't a crime. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But still, even as he tries his best to fight it, to shove it behind a basement door in the deep recesses of his mind and throw away the key, there's a small part of him that can't help but blame them for what happened. But it's not their fault. At all. Peter knows this. The downfall of his and MJ's relationship had nothing to do with Ned and Betty. Really, the problems had started from the very beginning. Peter, blinded by his stupid, gullible, swan-dive-head-first love for MJ, had just never been able to see the red flags waving right in front of his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How he's supposed to survive this flight with her—this </span>
  <em>
    <span>entire trip</span>
  </em>
  <span> with her—is beyond Peter. They haven't seen each other since the day she threw him out, and one night on Ned and Betty's couch turned into three months. Now, he's supposed to just grin and bear it, seeing her. Being around her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Speaking</span>
  </em>
  <span> to her. He wonders if he can get away with not having to talk to her. It's doubtful, though. With both of them being the best man and the maid of honor, there's a certain amount of </span>
  <em>
    <span>collaboration</span>
  </em>
  <span> required for a wedding to go smoothly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An entire week in O'ahu is something that before, he might have looked forward to. Seven days of warm sand and crystal clear waters. Seven days of sunrise and sunset surfing. Seven days of paradise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before all the arguing, before all the heartbreak, maybe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, Peter's wondering if it's too late to cancel his flight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second the thought enters his mind, he's hit by the guilt-train all over again. This is Ned and Betty's</span>
  <em>
    <span> wedding</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His best friend since middle school is actually getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>married</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He should be fucking</span>
  <em>
    <span> ecstatic. </span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is happy for Ned. He really is. Ned's been talking about marrying the girl of his dreams, Betty Brant, for literal years. Even before they were dating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter remembers the dumb, love-struck, starry-eyed look on Ned's face when she'd first walked into third period as a new student, looking stoic and holding herself high. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter remembers hearing Ned say through a mouthful of french fries at lunch that day that he was going to marry her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Ned doesn't remember that particularly embarrassing/heartwarming memory, but Peter sure as hell does.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's strange, Peter thinks, that Ned had been so incredibly sure of something like that. That he'd said it with such finality at such a young, dumb age. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter briefly wonders if that's why he and MJ suffered. That he hadn't felt that when he'd first seen her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure, he'd always thought MJ was cool. Her weird and dark sense of humor had always been one of his favorite things about her. And though he'd been consumed by his Texas-sized crush on Liz Allan, he'd always thought Michelle was pretty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>These are all simple facts. MJ's smart, funny, and beautiful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grass is green. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Water is wet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They'd only ever been friends for the longest time, Peter never quite realizing exactly when he'd stumbled, tripping face-first into his feelings for her. He remembers distinctly the emotional whiplash he'd gone through the night he'd told her how he felt, from the paralyzing fear and embarrassment that came from her shocked silence to the delirious, dizzying happiness when she'd kissed him mid-dumb ramble. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After that first kiss, that's when he'd thought he'd felt it—that certainty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Clearly, that worked out well.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A year together. All for nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gate agent says something else that he doesn't hear, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees other passengers gathering at the entrance. Peter looks up, ready to move, when Betty catches his eye, shaking her head and mouthing </span>
  <em>
    <span>"First class."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter slumps back into his chair, blowing out a harsh puff of air through his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Please remain seated until your group is called,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> The Gate Agent says over the intercom. Of course, she's speaking to everyone, but Peter, in his already fragile state of mind, can't help but feel the slightest bit attacked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it takes forever, waiting as each class division is called out by row, as what feels like each and every passenger brings up some huge carry-on that they could have just put with the checked baggage. When economy class is finally called up, the line still reaches into the terminal. Peter follows closely behind Ned and Betty, MJ keeping a fair distance behind him. For a split-second, he can feel her eyes on the back of his neck. It's brief, fleeting, but it's there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn't give him a sense of satisfaction. The opposite, in fact. It makes his insides turn, twisting and pulling. And although he can't see her expression, he can almost picture it exactly from how her cold gaze burns him like dry ice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he were in better spirits, he might smirk at that, imagining what she looks like, how her eyes crinkle glaring at him. But now, all he can do is tighten his jaw, press his lips together firmly, and adjust the grip on his backpack. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There aren't any issues as the gate agent scans each of their tickets, and she smiles brightly as she directs them to board. As they walk through the tunnel, MJ walks ahead, her head down, hands in her pockets as she pushes past them. It's nothing to get too hung up on, Peter knows this, but he can't help but roll his eyes at how stubborn she's being. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He perfectly understands (and appreciates) her not speaking to him, but to go so far as to just avoid contact with Ned and Betty, too?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, that's a new low. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lovebirds are the first to find their seats as they enter the plane, Ned taking Betty's carry-on with his and placing it in the compartment above them. Peter stands, watching as he waits for Ned to get seated before moving on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it's then, as he comes to the seat marked on his ticket, when he sees MJ sitting quietly in the middle seat of the next row, that he's reminded of one tiny little detail that had seemingly slipped his mind in all of his bitterness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter's seat is 10C.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And MJ's is 10B.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He considers begging Ned or Betty to switch with him, but he knows better than to ask the two of them to separate, especially on a trip that's supposed to be for their wedding. But he also knows that he can't possibly last on a ten-hour flight next to </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The idea's almost enough to make him jump for the emergency exit right then and there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a split-second decision, Peter frantically searches the cabin, eyes landing on the kind-enough looking face of an older man a few rows back. He's busy reading something on his phone, his glasses on the tip of his nose, brows scrunched thoughtfully. Not wasting another moment, Peter pushes ahead, stopping just in front of the man and clearing his throat. "Uh, hello. Sir?" His tone is polite, though he can't fully mask the urgency in his voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The older man's eyes flit up to meet his, watching him expectantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm supposed to be at 10C, but there's a—there's a… a lady over there… wearing some… uh… </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfume</span>
  </em>
  <span>—" Peter inwardly flinches at the lie. It's not something he's ever been good at. "—over where I'm sitting, that's like… really messing with my sinuses. And—and I was wondering if we could, you know, switch seats?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A beat passes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You gotta perfume allergy, kid?" The older man asks skeptically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Uh… Yeah. Yeah," Peter lies. "Not a bad one, but… Not sure if I can survive the whole flight over there, ya know?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The older man cracks a smile, though it's not clear whether he's actually buying the story. "I gotcha. "Sure," He says with an uncaring shrug, grabbing his laptop bag and standing from the seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter almost sighs in relief as he sits down, now far enough away from Michelle that this flight won't kill him. Now, the seats next to him are occupied by a young girl and her father. Peter leans his head back in the seat, closing his eyes for and releasing a weighted breath. But this small breath of relaxation shatters in the next moment when he sees a woman, possibly in her late thirties, walking down the aisle toward him, a full backpack slung over her shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sits up as she smiles at him. "Hi," she greets, giving him a gentle wave. "Would it be alright if we swapped seats? My husband—" She points to the man sitting next to the window. He smiles sheepishly as he waves. "—got our tickets messed up when he ordered them and put me all the way over there," she says, laughing as she throws a thumb over her shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter grins easily, nodding. It's something he'd do no matter the circumstances, but if it moved him even farther away from MJ, then…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, yeah! Of course."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The mother smiles gratefully, thanking him profusely as they switch places, her taking the seat, Peter moving aside to the aisle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Where were you sitting, ma'am?" Peter asks as he once again slings his bag over his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, 10A."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter feels as if he's been punk'd. He wonders if Ashton and a whole-ass camera crew are going to pop out of one of the bathrooms and laugh at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's also then that one of the flight attendants politely but firmly asks him to find his seat. If Peter thought he felt sick before, it's nothing compared to how he feels now as he does the funeral march/walk of shame back to his original row. Michelle doesn't even glance up at him as he walks up, and the man that Peter had traded with earlier seems completely unbothered by his presence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter's exceedingly careful in not touching either of his row-mates as he takes the window seat, flopping down dramatically in defeat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man from earlier pokes his head around Michelle, a knowing, secretive grin on his face. "You were right, kid. That lady's perfume…" He shudders, snickering to himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter can feel MJ's eyes on him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn't dare look at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One flight attendant recites her thousandth speech about flight safety and rules in a hurried, monotone voice. Peter barely listens, all of his energy focused on not self-destructing at the prospect of being trapped for nearly eleven hours next to his ex. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the pilot's voice comes over the intercom, as the plane starts to move down the runway, as it lurches when it starts to climb into the sky, Peter stares out the window, watching as the world beneath them gets smaller and smaller. But even as he desperately tries to distract himself, as he tries to force his mind to move onto something—</span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> else, he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>can't</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's impossible when he could touch her just by moving his elbow a half-inch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The plane rocks as it hits some turbulence, and he doesn't miss how her hand grips the armrest and she sucks in a sharp breath, her gaze trained on the seat in front of her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's an inkling in his chest, something that tells him to say something, perhaps to comfort her, but he shoves it down, burying it. Instead, he wordlessly shuts the blind on the window, hiding the too-open sky and small earth miles below. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's always known MJ's had a thing with heights and planes—he'd figured that out the first time he took her swinging around New York. It's the least he can do. They may hate each other's guts right now, but he's not a complete dick—</span>
  <em>
    <span>contrary to what MJ might say or think. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's a gesture he's not sure she notices, but frankly, he doesn't think he cares enough to check. He whips his headphones back out, plugging them into his phone and aimlessly shuffling through his music. He's not sure what song he settles on as he closes his eyes again, his head falling back against the seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It's a beautiful ceremony. Of course, it is. Tony Stark would literally have nothing else. And the reception is equally as—if not more—lavish and extravagant, the room decorated in elegant shades of gold and white. Pepper is the perfect picture of radiance, her long white gown sleek and sophisticated. She's laughing with her new husband while delicately holding a crystal champagne flute that probably costs more than all of Peter's vintage Star Wars toys combined.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter and May had been invited, of course</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tony giving the both of them a plus-however-many-you-want-it' s-the-wedding-of-the-Millenium</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>May hadn't brought anyone with her, deciding to spend her time with one of the honored groomsmen and also her wedding date, Happy—who also happens to be who she's dancing with at that moment. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The two chairs on either side of him are pulled out, and Ned and MJ plop down in their seats, their once empty plates now refilled from a trip to the gourmet buffet. Michelle's chair creaks as she scoots it forward, and her mouth twists into a frown. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Wow, you'd think with this budget, Tony could afford to get some better chairs," she quips dryly. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter smirks at that, ready to reply with an equally snarky comment when he sees Tony pulling Pepper to the dance floor, holding her close as they sway to the music. Instead, Peter's smirk melts into a soft, almost dreamy smile. And he can't help himself; he starts to imagine his own first dance at his wedding. What that might look like, who that might be with. Sure, he's only a senior in high school, he's got his whole life ahead of him to think about marriage, but really, Peter's always been a romantic. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He may be young, but he's old enough to know, without any doubt at all, that he wants to get married someday. To be so in love with someone else. Growing up, it's never really been a question. Anytime he ever so much as thought about his future, a wedding was always in the picture. Always one of the big milestones. Something later down the line, but he's not sure when. It's something he thinks he'll just suddenly know. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"When do you guys wanna get married?" Peter asks suddenly, his chin resting in his hands as he watches the happy couples on the dance floor. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ned chews thoughtfully. He shrugs. "I'm kinda thinking twenty-four or twenty-five. Right outta college. After she and I have steady adult jobs… we've been together for a while. We've bought a house—" He cuts himself off, clamping his mouth shut when he realizes he's said too much. "I dunno. I haven't thought much about it."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter grins. "Yeah. Sure. Of course." </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Shut up."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter decides at that moment to take mercy on his friend. He holds back his teasing, turning his attention to MJ, who's been too preoccupied with the food on her plate to contribute to the conversation. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"What about you, MJ?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Michelle glances up, scoffing. "I'm never getting married."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter's brows pinch together as his head jerks back in surprise. The very idea that someone wouldn't want to marry MJ is one of the most ridiculous things he's ever heard. As far as he's concerned, she's one of the greatest humans to ever exist. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then, he's appalled (and sad) that the thought has ever crossed her mind.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"What are you talking about? Of course, you are! You'll find someone." He spits out his words in hasty reassurance. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"No, wait. What?" she shakes her head, squinting at him. "I don't wanna get married."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"You don't wanna get married?" Peter asks incredulously, almost more shocked at himself for never knowing this about one of his best friends in the entire world. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Nope," she says, popping the 'p' and throwing a quick, tight-lipped smile. He gets the feeling that she's not going to elaborate.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Why not?" Peter finds himself asking anyway, pressing for more information, ignoring the bells going off in his head. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She stiffens slightly, and for a moment, Peter wonders if he should've just kept his mouth shut, but then she shrugs, unbothered. "I don't know. I just…" She trails off, her lips pulling to one side, eyes narrowing as she folds her arms across her chest. "I just don't really like the idea of getting the government involved in my relationship, I guess. Kind of just another way for them to spy on you."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter nods slowly, swallowing. "I gotcha."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"It is pretty expensive, too," Ned adds, frowning slightly the more he thinks about it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Michelle nods. "Exactly. I just don't see the point. Especially, because like… you don't really need marriage to be happy with someone. Or anyone in general." </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But still, even with that explanation, Peter feels that there's more to it. That there's something she's not saying. And with that feeling, there's a sense of unease, a strange pit in his stomach that he can't quite place. Something odd to feel at such a happy occasion like his mentor's wedding. It doesn't completely ruin his night, but it's something his mind keeps wandering back to when it gets the chance. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The other part of his mind becomes increasingly occupied with how weird the feeling that comes with the new knowledge that his best friend essentially thinks that marriage is a sham is. It's not like her opinion affects him in any way. It's her life. Not his. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps he feels disappointed that his friend has such a negative outlook on life, that he'll never get the chance to hold back tears as he watches her walk down the aisle and exchange vows with the love of her life. He'll never get the chance to see her rolling her eyes at his emotional outburst when she shows him the dress. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps it's because Peter loves weddings, and that's one less wedding invite he's going to get in his lifetime. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>All in all, he brushes these weird feelings off, ignoring them the best he can for the rest of the night. It's not any of his business what MJ wants to do with her life, so there's no use dwelling on it. She wants what she wants. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And he's happy for her.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No matter what.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's not a surprise that the near eleven-hour flight drags on, feeling as, with every passing hour, time only gets slower and slower, mocking him. Taunting him. He sleeps for about half time and pretends to be asleep for the other half. MJ reads an entire book, cover to cover, never once looking up and acknowledging him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which is fine. Perfectly fine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter thinks he would rather suffer another eleven hours on the same flight than have one conversation with her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's not petty. Not at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then, he knows that it will have to happen eventually. Realistically, the more he thinks about it, he knows that they can't spend the entire week pretending the other doesn't exist. It's not possible. Sure, they can avoid each other all they want, but For Ned and Betty's sake, they're going to have to interact. Be somewhat friendly. At least once. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe at the rehearsal dinner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He only opens the blind on the window once, near the end of the flight, and as beautiful as the ocean looks as they peak through the clouds, as pretty as the island of O'ahu is in the evening sun—still, being here now, he can't find it in himself to feel excited. There's still that mountain of dread looming over him as the plane descends to the runway, lurching with a bout of turbulence as it makes contact with the ground once again.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if he spares a quick glance at MJ after that rough landing, it doesn't mean anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It feels as if another half-hour goes by before they're able to get to baggage claim, and then at least another half-hour after that before they're loading their luggage and climbing into the UberXL Betty had called. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter watches as MJ crawls into the back row of the van, taking the seat on the driver's side, followed by Ned and Betty taking the two middle seats in the second row. Peter hesitates a moment, standing dumbly in the open doorway before taking shotgun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can feel Ned's glare on him as he sits next to the driver, buckling his seatbelt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Peter elects to ignore it. Instead, he stubbornly trains his gaze on the passing world outside, taking in the golden pink sunset falling over the city. The twenty-minute ride to the condominium in Waikiki is near silent, at least on Peter and MJ's ends. Ned and Betty make short, polite conversations with their driver, Betty asking him questions about his life in Honolulu, Ned complimenting the sleek interior of his ride. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's close to 8 PM when the driver drops them off in the parking lot. Luggage and bags in tow, not wanting to climb all six flights of stairs, they find the elevator. Peter sticks himself to the wall farthest from MJ, staring at his hands as he rocks back and forth on his heels, waiting for the door to open. The whole time, Ned and Betty are overcome with this giddiness that's been building since that morning. Betty giggles and whispers something into Ned's ear, earning herself a playful nudge on the arm. MJ leans against her suitcase, nonchalant as she stares down, inspecting her nails, picking at the skin on her thumb. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, a happy jingle plays as the door opens, and Peter's the first out, cutting right in front of the deliriously happy couple, though the lovebirds don't seem to notice, too enraptured in each other to even care. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter doesn't miss the way MJ glares at him, though. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He steps aside, letting Ned and Betty lead the way, following close behind. It had been a convenient find, the four of them finding two condos for such a reasonable price—considering that they were barely a minute's walk from the beautiful Waikiki shores. Sure, their views weren't as breathtaking as other, more expensive places, but that didn't matter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But all of that was planned months ago, before… Before things went to complete shit. Before Peter had realized he'd been fooling himself for years. Things became complicated, and they had all paid a non-refundable deposit on both places, leaving them no choice but to, well, do nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter had assumed it was an easy fix, though. He could just stay with Ned and Betty. Sure, there was only one bedroom, but they had a couch. He'd been staying with them since the break-up anyway, so what was another week? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He follows them happily for once, as he's just realized he'll have an opportunity to be away from MJ as she starts opening the lockbox to the other condo—allowing himself a moment to admire the ocean view from their place on the balcony. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then, Ned turns around, surprised to see Peter still with them. "Oh, hey, man. Uh—" He pauses, drawing out his syllables, scratching the back of his neck. "You weren't… You weren't planning on staying with us, right?" He asks carefully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty doesn't say anything. She presses her lips together, eyebrows raising as she looks away pointedly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter deflates, brows knitting together. "Oh! Um—Well. I mean. I just thought—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah… I love you, man…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There it is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned leans in, lowering his voice. "Betty and I… We kinda want this week to be… you know…" He waffles a bit, trying to find the right way to say what he wants to say. "We're getting married and… We kinda want… Some privacy. You know?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter stares blankly at him, the slightest bit confused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We still wanna hang out, though! Like, after you get all settled in, you and MJ should come over! We can have some dinner and drinks! But…" Ned pauses again, flinching slightly. "We wanna do… other stuff, too."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>OH.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hits him like a truck, and Peter suddenly feels his face warm in embarrassment, his eyes going wide. "Ohhhh, my God. Shit. You're right. My bad." He gives a shaky, apologetic grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't worry about it," Ned waves him off. "And… I'm sorry, too. I know staying with MJ isn't gonna be easy…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter huffs out a half-hearted laugh. "No idea what you're talking about," he jokes, forcing a smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned claps him on the back, before initiating the special handshake they'd made all the way back in middle school. "Thanks, man."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No problem," Peter says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except it is problem. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes problem. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter watches as Ned follows Betty into their condo, closing the door behind him. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>click </span>
  </em>
  <span>echoes in Peter's ears as he slowly turns the other way, feeling as if he's walking through quicksand as he makes his way back to the other condo. He stops at the door, realizing he doesn't know the key code. Letting out a heavy, defeated breath, he knocks on the door, the sound booming on the empty balcony. Once. Twice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes a few seconds before it opens, MJ standing on the other side. She doesn't say anything as she steps aside, letting him in, though her expression seems less than pleased. The air feels heavy, suffocating even as Peter enters the small apartment. The living room and kitchen are combined, the only thing separating them being the small bar. There's a large sliding door along the western wall, one that he can only assume leads to the only bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One-bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yeah, no. He's not doing that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, uh—" He starts, cutting himself off as his voice cracks. He clears his throat. "You can take the bed."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle's standing there, arms folded across her chest before she just brushes past him, her shoulder barely grazing his as she disappears into the bedroom. "Yeah."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter feels his jaw clench, hands tightening around the handle of his suitcase, knuckles starting to turn white at the pressure. He shrugs mockingly when she's out of sight, tossing his backpack down onto the couch and falling down next to it. He hears her rustling around in the bedroom behind him, perhaps unpacking already. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course, she would be,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks offhandedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey, uh—" He calls out over his shoulder. "Ned wants us to come over after we're done settling in."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her tone is clipped when she replies. "Cool." It's a simple answer, but it seems to speak volumes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Five minutes that end up feeling more like five hours pass before MJ finally steps out of the room again, her phone in hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You ready?" Peter can't help the impatience in his voice, but it's not like he makes any kind of effort to hide it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>MJ stops, staring at him a moment, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Of course, I am."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Good," Peter replies flatly, not missing a beat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned and Betty's condo is only two over from theirs, and even though it's a short walk, in theory, Peter's not sure it can end fast enough. He feels the air in his lungs slowly being sucked out of him, and he's pretty sure he's starting to get a tension headache just from how many times he's clenched his jaw today. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned answers the door with a wide, carefree smile, while Betty's in the kitchenette behind him. She looks up briefly, her smile less relaxed, not quite reaching her eyes. She exchanges a glance with Michelle, one that doesn't go unnoticed by Peter, one that only serves to make him even more uncomfortable than he already is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty's strained expression fades as Ned comes to give her a quick peck on the cheek, resting his hand on her waist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned leaves briefly, twenty minutes passing before he returns with bags of chips, various vegetables, and beer. It's a lonely twenty minutes without his guy in the chair, Peter resorting to isolating himself on the living room couch as MJ and Betty talk in the kitchenette. It shouldn't be as grating as it is, hearing her actually speak for the first time the entire day. It shouldn't make his chest heavy seeing her smile genuinely, realizing that it's not something he's seen in a while. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it is grating. It does make his chest heavy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned sets the groceries on the counter, Betty stepping around him to grab the avocados and lime, continuing her conversation with MJ as she starts to slice everything up. Ned comes up to Peter, offering him a beer and a knowing nudge on the arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You okay, man?" Ned asks, taking a sip from his bottle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter gives a single nod. "I'm good. We're… We're good." He knows it's a lie, and he's pretty sure Ned knows it, too, judging by the way his mouth stretches into a sad smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their condo looks almost exactly like Peter and MJ's, though it's a little more suited to a couple soon to be married. It's bigger, that's for sure, and for the briefest of moments, Peter wonders if he could convince them to let him stay on their sectional couch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes the thought away, remembering that this week is about Ned and Betty only. It's not the time for him to whine and complain about how sad and angry he is about a break-up that happened </span>
  <em>
    <span>months ago</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And it's then, at that moment, that he realizes how stupid it is; for MJ and him to be so stubborn as to keep this animosity going on the week of their best friends' wedding. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For just one week, he can put his anger aside. He can talk to her like a human being. Like an adult. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then, as the night goes on, as MJ drifts further and further away from him, he starts to lose that tiny ounce of inspiration just as quickly as he'd gotten it. He loses that already fleeting hope. Instead, it's replaced with a sense of creeping frustration, one that grows the more and more she dodges him. Here he is, trying to make things easier for everyone, trying to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something good</span>
  </em>
  <span> by making sure they're not chewing each other's heads off, and she's refusing to even take </span>
  <em>
    <span>one goddamn second</span>
  </em>
  <span> to acknowledge his existence. Her attention stays focused solely on Ned and Betty, never once veering into his direction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hurts more than he would ever admit. It had been hard already, the cold shoulder, the shutting out. But he had that distance as a crutch. Now… in the same room as her, being in such close proximity after so long apart… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's a new pain. Unfamiliar. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, a bitterness that he can't seem to swallow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it shows more than he'd like it to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's towards the end of the night, everyone exhausted from the long hours of travel, tired and eager to start their day of relaxation tomorrow. Betty and Ned are still on the couch, chatting away as some true-crime show plays on the TV. MJ is in the kitchenette, putting away the leftover guacamole, chips, and drinks. Peter knows that he should maybe wait to take his chance, that he should sleep on it. That he should really think about what he wants to say before he opens his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then, when Michelle stiffens, feeling his eyes on her, fixing him with a cold glare, muttering out a defensive, "What?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, Peter can't really stop himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You know, you could at least make an effort to actually talk to me," he says, his tone laced with petty sarcasm. "For Ned and Betty."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her gaze snaps to his again, her eyes flashing. "Are you serious?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter only gives a stiff shrug, his mouth twisting into a frown. He blinks rapidly, trying to hold himself together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle drops the bag of chips on the counter, scoffing. She shakes her head, letting out a humorless laugh. "You're one to talk," she mutters under her breath. She doesn't say anything else, doesn't give Peter any time for a retort before storming off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She says a hasty goodbye to their hosts, dismissing herself before slamming the door behind her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter's left standing at the kitchen bar, his throat burning as if he's swallowed barbed wire. His stomach twists as he looks up at his two friends, feeling small under their gazes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He follows soon after, spitting out a half-hearted, "have a good night," before stepping out into the night air. Taking a deep breath, feeling the warmth fill his lungs, hearing the ocean in the distance… it </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> calm him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, looking two doors down at the condo he's supposed to share with his ex… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can't help but wish he were anywhere else but here. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ex Appeal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again!! we are back!! This chapter is a long one, so apologies in advance! Thank you to everyone reading, leaving comments, and kudos!! I absolutely love seeing what you guys think and the support you've given this story makes me so happy! &lt;3</p>
<p>this chapter will be from MJ's perspective!</p>
<p>Hope you enjoy!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>7:54 AM.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>MJ wakes up to sun-dappled curtains. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eyes closing again, she takes a deep breath, and she allows her lips to curve into a soft smile as she stretches her arms out, momentarily thankful for waking up in a world with sun-dappled anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the moment of peace shatters before she can truly enjoy it as her brain cruelly reminds her of everything from the previous day. The reality of it all shows it's ugly face once again. Peter being a dick at the airport. The long flight. Peter being a dick </span>
  <em>
    <span>on </span>
  </em>
  <span>said flight. How tired she'd been at Ned and Betty's. Peter being a dick </span>
  <em>
    <span>at </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ned and Betty's. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter just being a dick in general.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's not like she's surprised. Especially after three months of absolute radio silence from his end—though that's not to say that she wanted or waited for him to reach out. She was—and is—perfectly fine if he'd decided to never speak to her again. No, her problem lies with him insisting that she try harder to be all buddy-buddy with him, when he's the one who had, again, deliberately tried to get as far away from her as possible on the plane, glared daggers at her the whole flight, then tried to get out of sharing the condo with her. The fact that he had seriously thought that she was the one that needed to get over it, to grow up...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It almost makes her wonder why she'd ever thought it was a good idea to get into a relationship with him in the first place. How after years and years of friendship, she'd only just seen the true height of his immaturity in the past few months. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She marvels at his sheer audacity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then, why she ever thought for a second that he'd have enough emotional maturity to put aside their past for their friends, she doesn't know. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Really, that's on her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reluctantly, she sits up in the bed, one foot dangling over the edge, the plush white comforter pooling at her waist. Rubbing her still sleep-filled eyes, the idea of just staying here all day, safe in the soft bedding, flashes through her mind. But she knows it's not possible. A silly dream. Whether she wants to or not, she has to leave this room at some point today. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if anything, she'd rather it be sooner than later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a final burst of what she's going to call confidence, she swings her other leg over the side of the bed, the light wood floor cool beneath her feet. She pads into the connecting bathroom suite, lavish and pristine. Her morning routine—typically quick and to the point—runs a solid thirty minutes, most of the time taken up by more stressed, yet determined stares in the mirror than she'd like to admit. And still, even as she finishes, spitting her mouth wash into the sink basin, she dawdles at the door, tapping her hands in an alternating rhythm against her thighs as she takes a moment to explore the bathroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's on the second read-through of the ingredient list on the back of the hand-soap that she stops herself, realizing then that she is, in fact, stalling. She mentally kicks herself for stooping to his level. Sure, she might not like the idea of his face being the first thing she sees after stepping out of the bedroom—feeling like the sight might just be enough to ruin her entire day—but that didn't mean she needed to hide like some kind of coward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steeling herself again, she steps back into the bedroom. Her hand freezes, barely touching the sliding door handle. Her own hesitation causes her to groan quietly, rolling her eyes at herself as she shakes out her limbs. Taking another breath—not before wasting another five minutes to find a suitable, lightweight hoodie to cover herself up, of course—she pulls the door open, the living room appearing right in front of her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter's sound asleep, sprawled out in a not-so-graceful position, one arm over his head, the other dangling off the edge of the couch. His mouth is parted, light snores coming out with each breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So that hasn't changed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His curls are wild, mussed from what she just knows was a restless night filled with tossing and turning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Surprisingly, it's not a sight that ruins her day—contrary to what she'd initially thought. There's a part of her, small and insignificant, that remembers this. It's familiar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's something that she knows well. So well, that she might smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she doesn't.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, she remembers herself. Her chest flares. Hot and bitter. A bubbling concoction that makes her jaw clench, her lips twist, her vision wavering briefly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Exhaling sharply through her nose, she spins back around, walking at a </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely normal</span>
  </em>
  <span> pace into the bedroom and snatching up her wallet and kicking on her shoes. She figures she might as well use this time to run to the store—on Eaton Square, she thinks Ned told her—maybe grab some stuff for coffee and other breakfast essentials. Really, anything to get her out of the condo. Perhaps when she returns, Peter will have left already.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not wasting another second, she moves on the very tips of her toes to the front door, opening and closing it roughly behind her, not taking a moment to consider whether it was too loud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The morning sun warms her face, a pleasant breeze playing with her curls. It's not a far walk to the nearby mini-mart—at least, what she gathers from how Ned had been so willing to go the night before. She doesn't use a map, feeling a strong urge to just wander and explore. At least it gives her something else to think about, trying to figure out where she is, and although she's never been one to have a sense of adventure, she finds the walk relaxing, seeing the other tall buildings around theirs, the swaying palm fronds in the distance, the line where the sky and the sea meet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's almost enough to make her forget about her little roommate problem. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn't take her long to find the mini-mart Ned had talked about. It's easy enough to navigate, though she still takes her time as she fills her basket with the essentials; coffee, tea, sour gummy worms. She also figures she should get actual food, considering they'll be here for an entire week, and she's not exactly keen on eating out for every meal. Dropping a big chunk of change already on the roundtrip flights and the condo, not to mention all the other little expenses here and there, really isn't making things easier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle leaves the store with two brown paper bags, both nearly bursting, one on each arm. It's not a crazy amount of food, but it should help them—help </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> get by through the week. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nobody said anything about sharing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One wrong turn adds an extra ten or so minutes to her walk back to the condo, but it's hardly an inconvenience. Again, the breathtaking sights of the bustling Waikiki neighborhood around her are more than enough compensation. Plus, it's not like she's in any kind of hurry. The longer she takes, the more likely a certain someone will be gone when she gets back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Upon opening the front door, however, she regrets not taking a more scenic route. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter's still asleep on the couch—</span>
  <em>
    <span>of fucking course he is</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Michelle thinks offhandedly—no longer splayed out. He's curled up now, his knees tucked to his stomach, head burrowed into the pillow as soft snores come out of his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, she doesn't linger. With a huff, she roughly kicks the door shut behind her, not bothering to quiet her footsteps as she practically stomps her way into the kitchenette. The groceries land on the counter with an echoing </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud</span>
  </em>
  <span>, some of the jars clanking loudly within the bags. MJ's eyes dart to the sleeping lump on the couch, and she quirks a brow when he stirs before settling again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If the fridge or a cabinet happens to slam a little too harshly a few too many times as she puts the food away, well, that's not her problem. If a ceramic mug clinks against others as she pulls it out, or the Keurig lets out it's jarring, mechanical, grinding hum, she doesn't need to worry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the third slam of the refrigerator door, as she puts the coffee creamer away, MJ hears an annoyed groan from the living room. Out of the corner of her eye, Peter's hands roughly grab at the pillow, pushing it into his face, covering his ears as he fights to stay asleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if Michelle smirks at that, a smug warmth blooming in her chest, then that's nobody's business. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she finds the blender in one of the bottom cabinets, her lips stretch into a satisfied smile. A smoothie would be an excellent breakfast for today—the perfect start. A fruity concoction of raspberries, peaches, and mangoes will undoubtedly give her the boost she needs. The blender's heavier than she anticipates, and she grunts as she drops it onto the counter. Frozen fruit and ice clink loudly as it's thrown into the pitcher, the milk and yogurt she'd poured in earlier doing nothing to muffle the sounds. The lid clicks as it's twisted into place, and Michelle takes a moment to read the buttons on the base of the appliance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her lips press together, and she forces her expression to fall, remaining impassive as she can as her thumb pushes the </span>
  <em>
    <span>smoothie</span>
  </em>
  <span> button. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it takes every ounce of strength she has to not crack a smile at the way Peter practically jumps off of the couch when the unnecessarily loud roar of the blender rips through the condo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What the hell?" He blearily looks around the room, his brows knit together in annoyed confusion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn't turn it off, training her gaze on the swirling pink mixture inside as Peter roughly yanks the blanket from his body, throwing it to the ground. She pretends not to notice as he storms up to the breakfast bar, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before fixing her with a steely glare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey!" He shouts over the whirring blades and grating hum. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, she pretends not to notice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"HEY!"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The act drops, though her uncaring expression stays. She turns off the blender, raising a single brow in question. "Oh, hey." The lid clicks as she twists it off. "What's up?" She asks cooly, swiping a finger through the smoothie mixture and popping it into her mouth in an attempt at nonchalance. Her brow pinches as she contemplates blending it more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter's eyes are naturally drawn to the action before he remembers himself. "What the hell?" He demands again, flailing his arms in every direction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, were you sleeping?" Her tone is flat. She kisses her teeth. "Shit. My bad." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Uh, yeah. I was. And it is." He huffs, letting out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Hey, listen. I know you're—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She starts blending again, effectively drowning out whatever the hell he wanted to say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His expression falls, and he stares at her, thoroughly unimpressed. He blinks once, twice as he waits for her to finish. When it's clear that she's not going to give him a chance to speak, his mouth snaps shut, releasing a sharp exhale in an indignant huff as he turns on his heel back to the couch. The sense of satisfaction she gets knowing that he's grumbling as he snatches up clothes from his suitcase—a fresh t-shirt and pair of navy blue swim trunks in preparation for the beach day ahead—causes her lips to twitch upward into a fleeting, sardonic smile. She bites the inside of her cheek, holding it back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle knows that it's immature, but she can't help it. And besides, petulance and pettiness seem to be the only ways Peter can communicate; he can't possibly comprehend an adult conversation—she'd learned that the hard way. All that she's doing is accommodating his needs like the considerate ex she is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if he's not going to think critically about the things he says and does, then she doesn't see any reason she should either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fight fire with fire, or whatever. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The glance he throws at her before disappearing into the bedroom is pointedly ignored. He shakes his head, sliding the door closed behind him. At the faint </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the latch, MJ stops the blender, spinning on her heel and rifling through the cabinets in search of glassware. By the time she opens the right one—after much trial and error—and sets the glass on the counter, Peter's emerging from the bedroom, now changed into his beach clothes for the day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm going to—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She starts the blender again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While she can't see him from where her eyes are burning into the swirling pink mixture, she knows for a fact that he's squinting at her, his mouth clamped shut, set into a thin, disapproving line. There's the faintest concern that she might be over blending her breakfast and that she may have added the ice too early. Still, she brushes it off, deciding at that moment that having a slightly more watery-slash-foamy smoothie is worth it in exchange for a few minutes of fucking with Peter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opens his mouth to speak again, but she still doesn't relent, pointedly, and aggressively pushing the </span>
  <em>
    <span>pulse</span>
  </em>
  <span> button every time he starts to get the words out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gives up before she does, shouting something over the deafening mechanical whirring about going to Ned and Betty' s—she thinks?—before storming out of the condo. Almost as soon as the door slams behind him, she shuts off the blender and pours herself a glass. Taking a quick drink of the smoothie, she lets out a weighted sigh. Her shoulders slump as she releases the tension she hadn't realized she'd been harboring, though the air still crackles around her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It's going to be a long week.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fact that Michelle takes another hour to join everyone on the beach is a complete accident. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, at least that's what she's going with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She'd finished her smoothie, and after cleaning up and putting everything away, she'd decided to do some light morning reading. Though, she wasn't sure if it could even be called that, seeing as she couldn't focus enough to get through three pages, her mind relentlessly replaying the past twenty-four hours on an endless loop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Figuring a new setting would make things a little easier—accompanied by the sickening realization that she had, in fact, been stalling—she'd changed, pulling on a simple, yellow bikini and throwing a t-shirt and shorts on over it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An old beach towel and the same book tucked under her arm, she'd stared at the front door a moment, taking in a quick, sharp breath. She'd given herself a mini-pep-talk before stepping out into the late morning sun, her stomach suddenly in knots as her feet carry her across the stone floor of the balcony and down to the pavement below. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it turns out that MJ's little pep-talk had done jack-shit. Not even that gentle ocean breeze, not even the sound of the waves lapping at the shore, not even the warmth of the sun's rays could make her relax. Now, all she could hear was the shrill laughter of children, the self-righteous surfer dudes hooping and hollering, the already drunk white moms. The sun stings her skin, and her nose only wrinkles at the salty, fishy sea air. She nearly trips as she reaches the sand, her flip-flops sinking almost as soon as she steps off the boardwalk. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>—she curses under her breath, hastily reaching down and practically ripping her shoes off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She carries them in her other hand the rest of the way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The beach isn't too crowded—probably one of the only positives in this situation. Tourist families, college students on vacation, and even some locals are spread throughout the expanse of the shore, but there's enough space for it not to feel too claustrophobic. She wonders how that might change as the day goes on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, she realizes that she doesn't actually know where Betty and Ned are set up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Great. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And the search begins. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few beachgoers walk past her, most likely heading for the tiki bar she'd seen at the end of the boardwalk—and she doesn't judge, even though it's not even 11 AM yet. Just ahead, she sees Betty waving at her, her beaming smile visible even from across the beach. Michelle waves back, though she keeps her slower pace. Ned pops out from behind Betty, then Peter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the sight, MJ briefly wonders if the early-day drinkers have the right idea when a particular face in the distance catches her attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's one she hasn't seen in literal years, since high school. Handsome, no doubt. Killer cheekbones. A nice smile. More than a little arrogance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It can't be. </span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her head whips around, gaze following the man as he walks to the tiki bar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he looks back over his shoulder, she finds herself surprised and utterly confused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What the Hell is Brad Davis of all people doing here?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can't possibly be here for the wedding. It's supposed to be a small ceremony; only close friends and family. Literally, the whole thing consists of less than fifteen people. But then, she thinks he might be someone's plus-one, though, for her life, she can't imagine who would pick him for that. As far as she knows, Miles and Gwen are still happy as ever—plus, she's pretty sure they've never met the guy. Neither has Liz. Flash—who'd been invited after Betty jokingly pointed out that he'd give the most expensive gifts—could have, but then again, MJ's pretty sure they hated each other in high school. Then, there's Betty's friend-slash-roommate from Freshman year, Felicia. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So maybe her?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then, all of these people weren't supposed to be here until tomorrow—Tuesday—and MJ hadn't heard anything about anyone coming early. All in all, she decides the most logical explanation is that Brad's here for an entirely different reason; perhaps vacation with his family or fraternity brothers, or something dumb like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Having brushed off the weird instance, Michelle finally reaches the group, her lips pressing into a thin smile as she greets Ned and Betty with a half-hearted wave. Peter's gone now, though she can see him swimming out to the sandbar out of the corner of her eye. She silently thanks whatever higher being exists for the moment of peace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Michelle!" A rich, feminine voice pulls her from her thoughts, and she startles, turning to see Betty's mom—adorned in a low-cut one-piece, a sheer, billowy kimono, and blocky wedges that do not look beach appropriate in the slightest—lounging on a chair underneath one of the large umbrellas. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey, Paulina," MJ greets, giving a sound wave, squinting under her sunglasses. "How're you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty's mom is a confident woman—she looks good, and she knows it. There's always a simpering, playful smirk on her face as she speaks, a sultriness to her tone. You wouldn't be able to tell she'd just turned fifty by just looking at her, not a gray hair in sight, years of regular exercise (tennis), and professionally done botox smoothing out her skin. Throughout high school, people would sing </span>
  <em>
    <span>Betty's mom has got it goin' on</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That being said, as long as MJ can remember, Paulina's always had that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I' m-not-a-regular-mom-I' m-a-cool-mom</span>
  </em>
  <span> energy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That, and she's always been kind of a mess.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Especially now—so MJ's heard—after her recent divorce from Betty's dad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, I am fantastic," Paulina replies, purring almost to herself. "It's nice to finally be out and about after being cooped up for so long. I had surgery, you know!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mom—" Betty tries to interject, warning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>MJ's brow creases. "I'm… I'm sorry." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's alright, dear," Paulina reassures. "I've been needing to get my breasts done for ages."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>MJ's mouth snaps shut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"—your father never wanted me to have them done. Thought it would look unnatural."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty looks close to actually falling on her knees and begging. "Mom, please."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But tell me, Peter," Paulina continues, ignoring her daughter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>MJ startles, looking behind her to see that a very wet Peter has joined them. Her eyes seem to ignore her brain, flitting down for a second, unable to miss how the little droplets of water fall across his chest and into the indentations of his abs. Heat—mixed with anger and something else—blooms across her face as she forcefully tears her gaze away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "—Do these look unnatural?" It's a genuine question, a nonchalance to it that only adds to the awkwardness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every other person in the group seems to want to dig a hole in the sand and bury themselves, Peter, especially. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Betty</span>
  </em>
  <span>, especially. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mom!" She scolds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sputters, looking anywhere but directly at Betty's mom, his face turning a deep shade of pink. He doesn't really answer her question, the only sounds coming out of his mouth being</span>
  <em>
    <span> I</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>uh</span>
  </em>
  <span> as he struggles to spit out an actual human sentence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If MJ weren't as uncomfortable, she might laugh at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Does what look unnatural?" A new voice asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brad Fucking Davis</span>
  </em>
  <span> is there, a fruity, pink slushie drink in his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, God, Brad get out of here while you still can</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Michelle wants to scream. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can see how Peter tenses from the corner of her eye, the way Ned and Betty seem to look even more uncomfortable and awkward if that's even possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, I know how </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> feel about them, mister," Paulina croons with a sly wink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, what?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Here's your raspberry colada," he says softly, lips quirking into a smile as he leans down to hand her the drink. The expression is all too seductive for so simple a phrase, and Michelle feels as though they're all seconds away from seeing more than they would have ever wanted to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank you." And then, Paulina shows just how </span>
  <em>
    <span>grateful</span>
  </em>
  <span> she is, pulling the younger man into a sloppy kiss. It's stomach-churning, entirely too much tongue for 11 AM—at a public beach, no less—and it feels like no amount of staring at the ground, trying to count each individual grain of sand can protect any of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty's eyes screw shut, forcing a sharp exhale through her nose, a valiant effort to remain calm before she snaps. "MOM!" The word comes out strained and shrill, octaves above her normal speaking voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's then that Paulina finally gets all of the hints that have been thrown in her face. She pulls away from Brad, but not before unnecessarily taking his bottom lip between her teeth and giving a light tug. Her smile is sheepish when she looks up at the other four. "Sorry, sweetie," she says to Betty, though she doesn't sound the least bit regretful. "Can you blame me? You know I can't control myself around this </span>
  <em>
    <span>hunk.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brad laughs, waving her off as she punctuates that last statement with a playful squeeze to his backside, ignoring the way Betty's eyes flash. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Michelle isn't typically one to judge another woman for her involvement in a consenting relationship—she doesn't need to think about her </span>
  <em>
    <span>own</span>
  </em>
  <span> track record—she could do without the blatant PDA. Sure, Paulina has this new, happy glow about her that's never been there before. This looks like the happiest she's ever been. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's just that Michelle would much rather the older woman not show that happiness by shamelessly groping her new boy toy in front of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh—damn," Paulina suddenly curses, sitting up as she rifles through her beach bag. "I think I forgot my tanning oil... in the hotel room." She speaks slowly, looking pointedly at Brad. "Would you come help me look for it?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I think we have some here," Brad replies, totally lost. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No—" Paulina stops him. "My… </span>
  <em>
    <span>special</span>
  </em>
  <span>… tanning oil." She seals the deal with a dramatic wink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How the other four haven't succumbed to their nausea yet is a mystery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It seems to hit Brad like a train, and he lets out a quiet, dumb chuckle before his eyes widen. "Oh! Yeah. Yeah. I can… I can help you look," he returns her wink with a coy smile, taking her hand in his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We'll be… right back," Paulina says from underneath hooded lashes, her eyes burning into her lover's, her lips curving into a sly grin. As she walks away, hand in hand with a very excited Brad, she adds another nail into the coffin, calling over her shoulder, "We might need a few hours!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The quiet that follows is almost too much, the four of them not knowing whether or not to laugh or throw up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty turns to them, an apologetic, embarrassed smile on her face as Ned wraps a comforting arm around her. "Guys, I'm so sorry about that. I should've warned you." She shakes her head, running a stressed hand over her face. "Ugh, God!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>MJ's lips twitch upward as she huffs out a laugh, feeling a twinge of something akin to pity in her chest. "Don't worry about it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"S'fine." Peter shrugs, still clearly uncomfortable as he scratches the back of his neck, though his smile is gentle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The moment he speaks again—reminded of the fact that he's still here—her stomach twists again in an entirely different direction. She makes the mistake of looking at him. Unconsciously or not—that remains to be seen—his arms fold across his chest, and she can't help the way her eyes are drawn to the movement, trailing the length of them in a quick glance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No. No, MJ.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Let's go swim!" Ned suggests enthusiastically, rubbing Betty's arm as he squeezes her against him. "Get in the water, maybe we can rent some boogie boards… It'll be so fun! You guys in?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle almost doesn't hear his question, too wrapped up in keeping her eyes off of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Parker </span>
  </em>
  <span>at all costs. But it's a fruitless endeavor. He brings a hand up to comb through his damp curls, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek at the way his biceps twitch and flex. She feels a familiar tug in her gut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>NO.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What the Hell is he even playing at anyway? Sure, they're on a beach, but… but that doesn't mean he needs to run around topless the whole time. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So what if he's built like a Greek god? Big whoop. This isn't high school. She's not some hormonal teen who blushes at the sight of some nicely sculpted abs. None of that shit matters now. Whether or not she still vividly remembers the feeling of </span>
  <em>
    <span>those</span>
  </em>
  <span> muscles pressed against her, the electric twitch underneath her hands as she reverently smooths over them, the sound of his breath hitching as she trails open-mouth, wet kisses lower and lower—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm down," Peter says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She makes the mistake of looking at his face again, and her chest flares in white-hot anger at the slightly smug half-smile he's got on—one that he clearly thinks is</span>
  <em>
    <span> just so subtle</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"MJ?" Betty asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle's yanked back to reality, her face too warm, her jaw clenched. She glances off to the side, gesturing to the umbrella behind her. "Eh, I might just hang out here for a bit. Get some reading in. Besides… Someone's gotta watch our stuff." Her excuse is solid, and despite how her insides feel like they're all playing a game of musical chairs, her tone is even casual. After all, this week is about her friends. She's not about to ruin it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And luckily, Ned and Betty seem to buy it, nodding along with her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter, however...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can feel the doubt radiating off of him like bad cologne. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, he goes with the couple, and if he takes a moment to look back at her as he follows, she doesn't know. And frankly, she doesn't care. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alone at last, she forces a somewhat shaky breath through her lips, setting her towel down on the ground, making sure to choose a spot that's a sizeable distance from where Paulina and Lover Boy were. She wiggles her shorts down, nearly tripping as they catch on her ankle, before pulling her shirt over her head, careful not to drop it onto the clingy sand. She stretches her arms above her head, shutting her eyes, almost sighing in contentment as the sun's rays kiss her newly exposed skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blinking her eyes open again, in the distance, she sees Ned and Betty, rented boogie boards in hand as they make their way to the waves, Peter lagging behind. His attention seems focused on her, and he stumbles, catching himself before he can completely eat Shit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her anger and utter annoyance, while they don't disappear completely, subside slightly, replaced by a smug satisfaction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure, she knows and remembers those certain things—it's hard to forget, given how </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> they were at </span>
  <em>
    <span>those certain things</span>
  </em>
  <span>—but so does he. Still, one fulfilling sex life does not always make for a successful relationship. The last month-and-a-half of theirs is enough to prove that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, she squashes down the memories as they come, ignoring them as she flips through the pages of her book. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And for the first time since landing, Michelle reads every word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Still think marriage is a sham?" Peter asks. His tone is laced with teasing humor, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he shuts the door to their bedroom.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ned and Betty, newly engaged, are in the adjacent room of the Airbnb, more than likely celebrating the new development in their relationship. Just over three years together and Ned had finally decided to pop the big question—taking Betty to the very place he'd first asked her out at the end of their senior year of high school. It had been a surprise. Of course, they'd talked about it before, both more than on the same page.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They were on the same sentence—the same words. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Betty had known it was coming; she just wasn't sure when. Though, that did absolutely nothing to stop the way she'd burst into happy tears, leaping into his arms before even giving an answer. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter and MJ had tagged along, mostly to quell any of Betty's suspicions. That, and to take pictures of the joyous moment. It was heartwarming, seeing their warmth and love swell and crescendo as Ned slipped the ring on her shaking finger. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It had almost been enough to make MJ tear up—though she'd never admit that in a million years.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter had definitely noticed, though.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>MJ looks back, eyeing him skeptically at the question, though she's unable to stop the corner of her lip quirking into a half-smile. "I never said that." </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"I'm pretty sure you did." He smirks, brushing past her and sitting on the edge of the bed. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Her body follows, and she watches as he starts kicking off his shoes. "No, I've always said that marriage wasn't for me. Not a sham," she corrects him, reaching down to take her own off. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It had been true, though. She'd always said she would never get married; that she never wanted to, her reasoning beyond what she'd said all those years ago never being explicitly said. It's not as if it's all that complicated, given that there are plenty of people out there just like her. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Though the air feels light, her stomach jumps into her chest. She's still wary of where this conversation is going. Thinking quickly, she shoves it into another direction, climbing into his lap. "I'm just not into threeways with the government."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At that, Peter snorts in surprise, mouth pressing into a line as he takes in what she's just said. "Threeways with the government?" He asks incredulously, his lips twitching into a bemused smile. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"You know, when you get married, you're basically getting The Man involved in your relationship." She moves to stand between his legs, placing her hands on his shoulders, her fingers toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. "Just seems like it'd be a really selfish participant, you know? Probably wouldn't contribute as much, and then expect praise for doing the bare minimum." A nervous, exaggerated laugh bubbles up out of her as she trails off, though it's not from her own lame joke. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter's hands unconsciously fall to rest on her hips, brow furrowed, and his mouth parted in a confused 'o.' </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Maybe that's why it's The Man and not The Woman," she mutters, trying to keep the joke alive. When Peter only half-heartedly smiles at that, she looks down, a quieter, shakier chuckle that she can't control pushing past her lips. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"But, um—" Michelle swallows before clearing her throat. "I am… Happy for Ned and Betty, though."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Yeah?" Peter asks, his smile growing as his thumb smooths over the soft fabric of her dress. "Me, too." </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Worried that more talking will only lead to the one place she does not want to go right now, she leans in, pulling him into a sweet kiss. Normally, his mouth, soft and wanting against hers, never fails to clear her mind, her only thoughts being how perfectly their lips mould and move together. But now, even as his tongue gently swipes at her bottom lip, as the skirt of her dress bunches at her waist, as Peter's hands squeeze her thighs before one moves up to innocently play with the lace trim of her underwear, she can't seem to turn off the shrill ringing in her brain.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter, the wonderful, intuitive boyfriend that he is, picks up on this tension immediately. He pulls away, looking up at her with all the concern in the world. His hands move out from under her skirt. "You okay?" He asks gently.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>While it's true that simple concern is a bare-minimum requirement for any kind of relationship, Michelle can't help the way her heart swells. And although she's far from okay, she doesn't want to ruin this moment. She doesn't want to leave the safety of this happy little bubble they've made for themselves. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She doesn't want to stop kissing him. To stop holding him. To stop loving him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Yeah." She answers with a floaty smile, before pushing him back into the mattress, capturing his lips into a searing kiss, one that causes her stomach to pool with heat. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His hands once again find their home at her waist, her skin alight as he slides the fabric of her dress over her hips. A breathy moan is caught in her throat when his hands lower, gripping her ass and grinding her down onto his growing hardness, the friction of his jeans rubbing against her clothed center intoxicating. "Fuck—"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Same," Peter breathes a laugh as he pulls back.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Michelle can't help her smile as her lips move to the underside of his jaw, leaving a trail of hot, languid kisses along his neck. His hips buck up into hers with she nips at a particular spot, his rough, throaty groan making her face burn hot. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>In an instant, Peter's hands move back to her waist. Without warning, he effortlessly flips them over so that he's hovering above her. Instinctively, her legs wrap themselves around him, pulling him close, urging him to press against her. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Instead, he leans in again, and she closes her eyes, ready to meet him when he plants a surprisingly chaste, sweet kiss on her cheek. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"What?" She asks, her voice barely above a whisper. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His hand comes to the side of her face, and she smiles, unconsciously leaning into the touch. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"I just—"</span>
  </em>
  
  <em>
    <span>He stops, cutting himself off, seeming to get lost in her soft expression. "I was just thinking about… how… it's been a year, but… but it feels so much longer, you know?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Somehow, her smile grows. "Yeah. I know."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Also, how stupid I am for not realizing we could've been doing this a lot sooner."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At that, Michelle lets out a breathy laugh, her stomach jumping when he kisses her on the corner of her lips. "I mean, I think that's on both of us. We were both idiots."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He grins. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"One of us more than the other…" She trails off with a tip of her head, her expression humorously impassive for their intimate position.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Hey!" Peter's jaw drops in mock-offense as he pushes up, supporting himself on his arms on either side of her head. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"What?" Michelle asks innocently.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"I'm trying to be romantic!"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"You're doing a great job," she says, biting her lip to keep her smile from forming. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He deadpans at her, though she can still see the glint of humor in his eyes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Continue."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He looks down at her, his eyes sparkling with such warm adoration. The expression tugs at her, and despite her frayed nerves, she easily mirrors it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"I just… love you so much." Another kiss to the tip of her nose, her face scrunching. "I'm so lucky."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It's then that her heart feels too big for her chest, and it races at his words, at the softness in his gaze. "I love you, too." Behind it all though, there's still the faintest tugging in her gut. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Without another word, he pulls her flush against him, kissing her again and again. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>MJ isn't sure what she had been so worried about. Being with Peter for just over a year, being his friend for even longer, he's always understood her, where she comes from. She's always been able to be open with him in a way she'd never had with anyone else, and while this was something that while they certainly disagreed on—at least, from what she remembers—it's not something that they won't be able to get through.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>After that night, her nerves seemed to be put at ease, at least for the time being. Realistically, she knows that this is a conversation they're going to have to have, but it's not one she wants to force. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Clearly, the best thing to do is to wait until they're both ready. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At a time where the mere thought of approaching the subject again doesn't make her lungs ache. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Her keys jingle as she unlocks the front door to their shared apartment, kicking it closed behind her as she steps into the entryway. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter's sitting on the couch in the living room just ahead, seemingly absorbed in something on his laptop. It's funny; she's never been able to sneak up on him, but now, it almost seems too easy with how his eyes are burning into the screen. A wicked smile tugs at her lips as she tiptoes across the old wood floors. A board creaks under her feet, the sound screaming in the silence of the room. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Michelle curses.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter jumps, instantly slamming his laptop shut. "Oh, hey! Didn't… Didn't hear you come in."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She passes him a skeptical glance, plopping down next to him. "You… Didn't hear me come in?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"I mean… Yeah," He answers with a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "I was kinda… Focused on something."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Her brow rises in curiosity. "Something?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Something," he answers back simply, his lips pressing into a tight-lipped, somewhat nervous smile.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She's unsure whether or not his nervousness is a good or bad thing, and apparently, her expression shows that. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter rushes to clarify. "It's something for you," his nerves turn more bashful, and the worry in her gut settles.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Oh?" She asks, toying with the string of her (his) hoodie. "What is it?" </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His smile is light, his voice still slightly breathy. "It's a surprise," he says carefully. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Peter—" She warns, kicking his foot with hers.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"I know, I know, you don't like surprises… But this… This is a good one." His smile grows, nudging her in return.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> "I promise."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Let it be known that being trapped at a table with her ex, her best friend's mom, and said mom's new young boyfriend in a crowded, high-end sports bar overlooking the ocean is probably item number one on MJ's </span>
  <em>
    <span>things-I-definitely-don't-want-to-be-doing-while-on-vacation</span>
  </em>
  <span> list. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then again, when she looks at Ned and Betty across from her, seeing how she puts her hand over his as she talks about the linguistics class she'd taken her last semester of Junior year…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It helps Michelle remember why she's here in the first place, and the list is forgotten for the time being.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though, in all honesty, she could've done without the nasty look—which, yes, she did see, and no, it wasn't that subtle—from Peter when Brad had pulled out her chair as they'd all sat at the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From the moment the server had taken their drink orders, Michelle can feel Peter's fleeting glances, and she stubbornly glues her own eyes to the menu. Annoyance claws at her throat, clinging as she tries to swallow it down, and she fights the urge to call him out right then and there, to ask him what the hell his problem is when he looks up for the fifth time and their eyes meet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blinking, he tears his gaze away, mouth setting into a firm line, his jaw muscles twitching as he stares at his own menu. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"—Think I'm going to get some raw oysters for the table," Paulina says, that simpering smirk back on her face. She passes a dramatic wink to Brad. "I hear they're </span>
  <em>
    <span>aphrodisiacs</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>"</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mom," Betty starts, the tone in her voice teetering between pleading and warning. "Please."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, calm down, sweetie. Have a little fun!" Paulina waves her off, chuckling to herself. "If you're going to be married soon—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she can finish her sentence, their server returns with a full, welcoming smile and a platter of drinks, and Michelle's not sure she's ever been so happy to see someone in her life. Honestly, she's almost sad when they leave again after taking everyone's orders, watching as the group's only savior disappears into the restaurant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knows Paulina's talking again, but she does everything she can to just tune her out; playing with her napkin in her lap, stirring her drink, studying the intricacies of the table's wood grain. Anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty looks over, sensing her friend's discomfort, her mother now enthusiastically telling Ned and Peter the story of how she'd met Brad at the gym. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My dad's coming tomorrow, I promise. With everyone else."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite her sour mood, Michelle puts on a somewhat happy face. Nicolas Brant had always been the more serious of the two parents; the less bold and extroverted, yet still bearing some confidence. It was more than obvious that Betty took after him more than anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Apart from that, Michelle doesn't really know anything about him, but the idea of someone coming to even out the chaotic Paulina Energy was more than enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Good," Michelle responds, both for her and her friend's sake. "But… It's okay. Honestly, don't worry about it. This week is stressful enough," she jokes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Actually, it's been kind of fun," Betty shrugs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's hard for MJ to hide her surprise. "Really?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I mean, yeah, the whole mom situation is a little stressful, but… I don't know…" She trails off, smiling as she shakes her head. "Having Ned here just kinda grounds me, I guess? Like, none of that other stuff is important."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle scrunches her face, teasing. "Cheesy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again, Betty shrugs. "It's a beach wedding."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fair," Michelle chuckles quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A beat passes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty lowers her voice again. "I hate to ask but—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>MJ tenses, somehow knowing where this is going. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How are… things?" The question is understood immediately, though her friend's silence encourages her to elaborate. "With… Peter?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All MJ can do is give a forced, tight-lipped smile, taking a pointed sip of her water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty flinches. "That bad?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That bad."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"MJ, I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry. If there's—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't be," Michelle says, shaking her head, feeling the corners of her lips twitch dangerously. She takes a breath, steeling herself. "Seriously. It's fine. I'm here for you and Ned. Not him. Don't worry about it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty's mouth shuts, and she nods, casting her gaze downward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another beat passes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And…" MJ continues after the lull. "Don't worry about your mom. Gross as it all is, she's kinda hilarious."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's Betty's turn to scrunch up her face, mouth setting into a doubtful frown. She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, Paulina loudly interjects, already halfway through her martini. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Betty! I didn't know that Ned was two months younger than you!" She says as if it's the most exciting information in the world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gaze darting from left to right, the bride-to-be lets out a wary huff of laughter. "Uh, yeah?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paulina sighs fondly, taking Brad's hand in hers. "We Brant women are so alike. Isn't that funny?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's not the same, Mom."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Betty's certainly right. Two months is not the same as a quarter of a century. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mother scoffs. "Listen, I do not know what the big deal is. If big guys like Leonardo Dicaprio can do it, why can't I? Can't your Mom have some fun?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brad nods enthusiastically, and all MJ wants to do is tell him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>shut the hell up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not saying you </span>
  <em>
    <span>can't,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mom, it's just—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Let me tell you, it has been so liberating, being with Bradley. I have been like a caged bird, just… longing to feel the wind on her haunches. I haven't had this much sex in years!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty doesn't dignify that with any response, burying her head in her hands, and only looking up when she feels Ned's hand squeezing her shoulder. Michelle can faintly hear him mumble something to her, and it makes her chest warm, seeing the way Betty smiles after. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Speaking of fun—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there Paulina goes again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What's going on with you two?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes a second to realize that she's talking about the two people on opposite ends of the table. Peter and MJ exchange only the briefest of glances, probably the most uncomfortable one to date. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost immediately, Ned jumps in. "Mrs. Brant—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"—Are you guys doing some kinda roleplaying where you hate each other? Nick and I used to do that. All the time. Though, eventually, we started to </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> hate each other." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>MJ feels as though she's in the middle of a train wreck. Not watching it. Not seeing the aftermath. But that she's right fucking there. She can feel her heartbeat in her throat as she stares in stunned silence at the older woman. She opens her mouth to speak, but can't get any sound to come out. She dares another look to Peter, his eyes burning a hole into their table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She briefly wonders if she's in actual Hell right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Always made for some amazing sex, though—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"—Peter and MJ broke up! Remember?" Betty stops her, practically shouting across the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unsurprisingly, Paulina only seems mildly embarrassed, covering her apologetic smile with a shocked hand. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry, guys. Must have slipped my mind." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that seems to be the end of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But peace—as awkward as the silence is—can only last for so long. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What happened?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm… uh—I'm gonna run to the—to the bathroom." Peter jumps from his chair, barely even taking the time to dismiss himself before he's gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle only stares at her hands in her lap, shaky fingers picking at the skin of her thumb, the blood rushing in her ears muting the way Betty hisses at her mother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's the faintest burning behind her eyes, one she desperately tries to blink away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she looks up again, Betty's still arguing with her mom, Brad quietly sipping at his vodka soda. Ned's looking over at her, his brows knit together as he mouths, </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Are you okay?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>MJ blinks again, sniffing once before giving a solid thumbs up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"I'm good,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> she mouths back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn't seem convinced in the slightest, and she wishes that she was telling the truth. Because at that moment, her entire body aches, her chest flares, her heart feels as if it weighs fifty pounds, and there's this stupid lump in her throat that doesn't seem to want to leave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, at that moment, Michelle Jones is the farthest thing from </span>
  <em>
    <span>good.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well?? what do we think?? How are we feeling?? </p>
<p>follow me on tumblr @spiderman-homecomeme and on twitter @smhomecomeme for fun meme and fic stuff woo</p>
<p>Thanks for reading!! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Tyrannosaurus Ex</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We're back!! hello!! thank you all so much for reading and for commenting and leaving kudos! I love seeing what you guys have to say and how much you're enjoying the story! It's so fun to write something so rom-com-y. </p><p>Anyway, here's a LONG chapter! Enjoy!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Peter doesn't remember the walk back to the condo after dinner—though he can still feel the silence crushing his chest nearly eleven hours later. The sound of MJ's footsteps as she'd hurried to the bedroom and the mocking </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the sliding door as she'd shut it behind her still rings in his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truthfully, he knows that he shouldn't have left so abruptly after Paulina's question—intrusive and ignorant as it had been. He's not stubborn enough to deny that it had been immature and, as Ned may have put it, "a real dick move." Sure, he came back eventually—after splashing his face with some cold sink water in the bathroom and giving himself a half-assed pep-talk in the mirror—but… he'll admit that there may have been better ways to handle that situation than just </span>
  <em>
    <span>noping </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What else was he supposed to do?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Answer? Honestly?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If only it was that easy,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he'd thought with a humorless laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's hard, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's hard when MJ seems so dead set on ignoring every aspect of his existence, when MJ carelessly throws out ten years of friendship. After everything they'd been through together... He'd be lying if he said that the cold shoulder didn't sting. And behind all of his anger and resentment, there's a pain—one that makes his lungs ache and the backs of his eyes burn. One that no matter how hard he tries—he can't run away from. It follows him, looming over his shoulder, poking and prodding his chest with a hot skewer when she so much as brushes past him, pointedly keeping her gaze away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And right now, these "dick moves" he keeps pulling are the only things that keep him from spiraling. It's safer, less of a chance to make a fool of himself—again. Clearly, Michelle isn't one for that kind of shit anyway—open, honest, communication. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's learned his lesson. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If she hates him, then he hates her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if he doesn't want to relive his break-up with MJ just because this middle-aged woman is nosy, he doesn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to—especially when dragging something like this back up is just throwing salt on the already rotting wound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't owe anyone any kind of explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he's wholly justified in wanting to vacate the area when someone like Paulina asks, "What happened?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What happened?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What happened??</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The list would be at least three miles long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It goes without saying, after the physical, mental, and emotional toll that was dinner with Bradlina—as Peter likes to call </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>—and a cold ex, his night is filled with restless tossing and turning. Saying that he got any decent sleep would be too generous. He'd dozed in and out, never once falling into the deep sleep he so desperately wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After what feels like another hour, he opens his eyes, feeling a bubbling frustration as he immediately squeezes them shut again, groaning as he buries his face into the pillow. It's still dark. Too dark. Too early. The sky has barely started turning a dark blue instead of an inky black.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not looking up from the pillow, Peter reaches for his phone on the coffee table, bracing himself for the blinding white light as he presses the home button. He cracks a single eye open, squinting as he reads the time, his gut tugging seeing the clock change to read </span>
  <em>
    <span>5:32 AM</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that moment, it becomes abundantly clear that he's just going to have to run on whatever little sleep he got. Any chance of decent rest is gone, along with his desire to stay in this condo another second. He's not sure where he'd go this early in the morning, knowing that Ned and Betty might kill him if he comes knocking on their door before 8 AM. Still, he throws his blankets onto the floor, rushing—for no particular reason—onto his feet. His lips twist in thought, and he hesitates a moment before hastily changing out of his boxers and pulling on a pair of dry swim trunks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He figures the best he can do right now is walk it off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Literally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A peaceful walk on the beach—or maybe even some light swimming in the shallow waves—as the sun rises over the sea sounds like precisely what he needs to finally clear his mind of all the junk, or at least sweep some of it under the rug for now. With a newfound burst of energy, he doesn't waste any more time as he takes long strides to the door. His mouth curves into a barely-there smile at the warm—humid, but bearable—morning breeze that greets him as steps out into the open hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His feet carry him to the stairs, down to the parking lot below, and for a moment, the view of the beach under the lightening blue sky ahead is almost enough to make him forget about everything with MJ. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also thinks about how lucky they all were to get such a sweet deal on a beachside condo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's then that he notices a shed at the far corner of the lot, and he vaguely remembers something about the owner of the place storing some beach supplies there for the tenants to borrow at their leisure. Stuff like chairs, giant umbrellas, tarps, surfboards—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it's then that Peter gets the idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It's been years since he's been surfing. Peter barely remembers his first time hitting the waves—each time he'd wiped out is fuzzier than the last. All he knows is that about the third time, a senior in high school, things were made a whole lot easier—things being balance, grace, and overall coordination—by that radioactive spider. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had always been something he shared with Ben—not a pro, by any means, but the man could talk about it for hours on end if you'd let him. Peter would always hear crazy stories about his dad and Ben surfing when they were younger, doing stupid and borderline dangerous tricks, going after monster waves that were miles out of their skill level, all to one-up the other. One story, Ben's favorite, in particular, involved a nasty wipeout and being saved by the "hot lifeguard on duty."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hot lifeguard on duty," also coincidentally happened to be Aunt May. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben had always joked, saying that at first, his dumb twenty-two-year-old brain thought she was a mermaid as she pulled him to the shore.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"A mer-May-d,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> he'd say right after, earning an eye roll and an uncontrollable smile from his wife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Peter finds himself smiling at the joke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a pretty solid pun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, it's been years since he's been surfing, the last time—and first without his uncle—being his senior year of high school. But that doesn't stop him from unlocking the door to the shed—after a solid six-and-a-half-minute struggle of trying to remember the code before dumbly realizing that it's the same as the one that opens their condo—and picking out the first board he sees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something new tugs at his gut, and his stomach flips in excitement as he turns and walks toward the water. The beach isn't crowded, considering he's there at the what's essentially the buttcrack of dawn, though it seems that most, if not all of the beachgoers, are there for similar reasons. Some to surf. Some for peace. And some for both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His worn flip flops immediately sink into the sand, and he reaches down to pull them off, shaking the grains off before setting them on the under the boardwalk stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He also may or may not say a silent prayer that no one will want to steal sandals that are older than most fourth graders. Sure they're old, but they're still good. He can't just throw them away. So what if duct tape might be the only thing holding the right one together?)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking over his shoulder, he can see the sun peeking from behind the skyline, the purples and oranges giving the world around him a hazy pink glow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And although the serenity causes him to breathe out a smile, there's a weight in his chest, one that he stubbornly shoves down; one that mocks him, saying how different it could be if things had stayed the same. How there's someone he's missing at that moment. How he might not be alone if it hadn't been for—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter shakes the thought away before it can finish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is not the time to be moping over </span>
  <em>
    <span>what went wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> with MJ. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is a chance to be alone—completely—for once. Time to get a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking break</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The water is warm, splashing against his legs as he wades in, climbing onto the board once he gets further from the shore, making sure he's got the ankle strap secured. He paddles along, looking for a beach break where he can get some rideable waves. It then becomes a waiting game; this he remembers. Ben had always told him that you often spent more time just waiting for a decent to show up than actually surfing. But he'd also say to not get frustrated. To stay relaxed. Take that time given to just enjoy the water, to clear his mind. He still watches the horizon, keeping an eye out for any promising swells. The shore stays close behind him as he waits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And although Peter takes Ben's advice—in more that one aspect of his life—it's inevitable that in all the downtime, his mind just meanders right back to the night before, the past few days, the past three months. The way her impassive expression had faltered when Paulina shoved herself right into their business without thinking is burned into his brain. But before he can even consider wondering how MJ's doing in all of this, if she's okay, he slams on the breaks, the mental whiplash he gets from it almost blinding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She's supposed to be fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She's not the one who's hurting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She's made that perfectly clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, if she wasn't doing okay, what's with all the pointed glares and the cold shoulder?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(A voice in Peter's head tells him </span>
  <em>
    <span>that's not how that works</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He tells that voice to </span>
  <em>
    <span>shut the hell up.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then the blender yesterday. What the hell was that all about? Was that necessary? No. It absolutely wasn't. MJ being immature and petty, the opposite of what he'd always expected, smacks him across the face; he'd never knew she had it in her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But how can he be surprised? This is MJ. Snarky, sarcastic, stubborn MJ. Funny-in-kind-of-a-dark-way MJ. Always-has-a-better-comeback MJ.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first swell comes, and even as he paddles to meet it, leaping up and standing on his board as he glides across the curl of the small wave when it breaks, he feels as if the rock in his chest might drag him to the ocean floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rides the wave out, feeling disappointment gnawing at his gut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't feel better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter how many more waves he waits for—and no matter how many he seems to miss—he still can't shake it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His biggest mistake, he blames on the sleep deprivation, rather than the distraction. One minute, he's jumping to stand, ready for one of the larger waves, and the next, his footing is off, and he's dragged under, momentarily trapped between his board and sand. He breaks through the water's surface, coughing and sputtering, the taste of saltwater overwhelming, his eyes stinging as he screws them shut. He shoves his now moppy hair out of his face, sea droplets flying as he roughly shakes his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nearly stumbles in the shallows in his frustrated desperation to get back to shore as the waves push against his back. He stomps through the water, his calves starting to burn when he touches dry land. The surfboard bounces on the sand as he drags it haphazardly behind him, and he ignores the other arriving beachgoers clamoring to get the "good" spots—which is ridiculous, given that they're all in actual paradise. Every spot is a good spot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, right now, he'd rather Ned and Betty have picked anywhere else for their destination wedding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Preferably not on a remote island where he's trapped with his ex. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds his flip flops right where he'd left them—probably the only good thing that's happened all morning—pulling them on before climbing the rustic wooden steps up to the boardwalk. It turns out that no one wants to steal a pair of shoes where the right is quite literally being held together by a single piece of duct tape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who knew?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's not exactly sure what time it is when he reaches the parking lot again, the sun still inching higher. And although it's warm outside, he feels a slight, uncomfortable chill, reminding him that he's still drenched from his little ocean expedition that ended in an uncharacteristic wipeout. He runs a hand through his still wet hair, grimacing when his fingers meet stubborn, fine grains of sand that get caught under his nails.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Usually, beachy, sandy hair doesn't bother him all that much, but now that they've reached the third day, the salty grime on his skin is starting to become almost unbearable, and with everything going on, his brain drowning in stupid, angry thoughts, his tolerance for any slight inconvenience at all is waning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, maybe the next step is a nice, relaxing, hot shower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, after dropping the surfboard off in the shed, as he nears the stairs to the second level of the condominium, he stops, his foot frozen on the first step. His fingers drum against the handrail, and his mouth presses into a thoughtful line. The idea of going back into his own place, having to ask MJ if he can get into the bathroom because of course the only way in is through the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking bedroom</span>
  </em>
  <span>, just as she's waking up—or worse, as she's still sleeping—makes him consider just giving up entirely and running back to the ocean. Hell, just the thought of seeing her in that state alone—all bleary-eyed, rubbing the tiredness from her face, the way her face scrunches as she stretches her arms above her head, her body probably still warm with sleep…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd rather not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, thank you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Peter doesn't have a watch currently on his person, he figures it's not so early in the morning that he'd get kicked out of the wedding for knocking on Ned and Betty's door to ask to use their shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though, he almost wishes he hadn't when Ned answers, wearing nothing but a fluffy white robe, his hair in suspicious disarray. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned looks mildly annoyed at first, then surprised, before his brow pinches together in confusion. "Oh, uh… Hey, man." His gaze darts from left to right as he adjusts the collar of his robe. "What's… What's up?" He asks, a little too casually leaning against the doorframe. "Why are you wet?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh. Hey. Uh. Surfing. You know." Peter gives a half-hearted, low wave. He glances self-consciously over his shoulder. "Am I… interrupting… something?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned tilts his head, confused again before his face lights up with a laugh. "Oh! No. Not… No. We're… we're done. Betty's—" He clears his throat. "Betty's actually just finishing up… getting ready. For the day." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter finds himself chuckling at that, despite his mood. "Wow. Already? Isn't it like—" He peeks over Ned, looking for a clock. "Seven in the morning?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, Betty steps out from behind the bedroom door, her hands fumbling slightly with a second earring, the precise clicking of her sandaled heels on the floor echoing. "Felicia and Liz took the red-eye last night, so they're getting in soon. MJ and I—" She pauses, cutting herself off as she meets Peter's eyes. It's brief, barely a second, but he definitely notices. Whether she means to or not, her lips quirk into an apologetic smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter wants to scoff. He can be cool."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty continues. "—we're taking them out to breakfast after they get settled in."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So…" Peter draws out, connecting the dots. "You guys are meeting up before?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty's eyes flit from side-to-side as she secures the back of her earring. "Yeah."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good to know," Peter says, giving a stiff thumbs up, lips pursing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why?" Ned and Betty ask simultaneously. They exchange a loving look at the jinx, but they quickly collect themselves, moving their focus back to Peter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter tries to decide whether it's worth it to lie, to say he just wanted to come and say hi, to check on the bride-and-groom-to-be. Odds are that they wouldn't believe whatever bullshit excuse he came up with, he reasons. Ned and Betty may be distracted by how deliriously in love they are with each other, but while they seem to ignore the world around them, their collective </span>
  <em>
    <span>Parker-Bullshit-Detectors</span>
  </em>
  <span> always seem to be in tip-top shape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's dumb. Like, really dumb." Instead of lying, Peter decides for once to be honest. He laughs, though it's not a happy sound, more awkward than anything, one done to convince someone to get in on a bad joke. "I was gonna ask to use your shower 'cause I thought it'd be too awkward to wake up MJ and ask her… and it's just… it sounds really dumb now that I say it out loud..." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up to see his friends, decidedly unamused. Not laughing at all. Not even a polite chuckle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty's eyes almost roll out of her head as she walks back into the condo, grabbing her purse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Peter…" Ned lets out an exasperated sigh. "You gotta—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"—Dude, I know!" Peter cuts him off, not giving him a chance to barrel through the conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned's mouth snaps shut. He raises a doubtful brow. "You do?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's difficult to hide his own hesitation, the way he falters ever-so-slightly. "Yes," Peter says, thoroughly unconvinced of the word that comes out of his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned blinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I do," Peter adds, still a terrible liar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Peter…" Ned's voice takes a pleading turn as he lowers it to a hasty whisper. "Can you guys just… chill? For a few more days? C'mon, man… It's our wedding…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guilt that kicks Peter in the chest again is enough to snap him back to reality. He looks down, nodding slowly. Sure, he has no idea if he can actually be "chill" with MJ for the rest of the week, but he can pretend, can't he? He can pull himself together enough to at least be friendly towards her, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it's all for his best friends, he can certainly try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course, man…" Peter mutters. "Sorry…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned's voice is tired but still kind. "It's okay. I get it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If it makes you feel any better," Betty chimes in as she pops up from behind Ned, giving him a firm hug and a peck on the cheek, briefly squishing her face into his before parting. "I'm meeting up with MJ soon," she continues, adjusting her bag before stepping out the door. "So you don't have to be afraid to use your own shower," she teases—though there's a clear edge to her tone—as she breezes past him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's jaw drops, and he's ready to say something to defend himself when he looks to Ned, who only gives a telling shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe there's some truth to Betty's little joke, but Peter's not about to dignify that with any kind of response. He doesn't want to appear too defensive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if he gets the slightest bit of relief from hearing that MJ won't be in their condo and he can go about his morning business freely, then that's none of their business.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gives a firm, somewhat awkward, and forced salute to Ned before spinning on his heel, just missing his friend's exasperated look as he shuts the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hopefully, Betty's right about the whole empty condo thing, that MJ'll already be gone by the time he slips back in. Peter nudges the front door with his foot, cautious as he watches it swing open. Sure, maybe poking his head in first—wide eyes darting around the room, looking for any signs of life—before walking in on the very tips of his toes is a little on the dramatic side, but he doesn't want to take any chances. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And still, as he reaches the very couch that had betrayed him the night before, there's nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>MJ is not a loud person by any means—apart from that whole blender thing yesterday, of course. No, he remembers the few times she'd actually been able to sneak up on him in their own apartment, despite his enhanced hearing; her sock-covered feet near silent as she'd stalked up behind him. Even though it's only happened two or three times, the picture of her scheming grin, her eyes crinkling mischievously as she'd playfully ruffled his hair, causing warmth to bloom in his chest—It's probably going to be burned into his brain forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the point here is that he likes to think he knows what she </span>
  <em>
    <span>sounds</span>
  </em>
  <span> like—shuffling around, walking on the front of her feet, opening and closing doors, just some of the things he's picked up over the years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so far, he doesn't hear any of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only one test left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello?" He calls out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets nothing in return. The sliding door to the bedroom is slightly cracked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No sign in there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he cracks a smile, his shoulders sagging as he lets out a too-relieved breath. Fucking finally. Not once in the past few days has he had the chance to just relax—just </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>—in the condo. And now, he's got the entire place to himself—no MJ. Not a second later, he's already taking full advantage of this new freedom, peeling off his still wet t-shirt, twisting and draping it over his shoulder. He quickly drops his swim trunks to his ankles, not caring that he can be caught quite literally with his pants down if MJ were to come in—which she won't obviously, it's just a thought that crosses his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, it doesn't matter. He's free, at least for a few hours. She's gone to get breakfast with the girls. Peter's got all the time in the world for an excessively long, hot shower. It's what he deserves after days of the debilitating stress that he's been put through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crumples the shorts up, not wanting to risk them dripping onto the nice wood floors—while he's this carefree, he still doesn't like the idea of the hefty damage fee that'd come from saltwater stains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he slides the door open the rest of the way, as he's immediately smacked in the face with a sight he hasn't seen in three too-long months, and as the sound of both his and MJ's screams almost wake up the entire condominium, he curses his sixth sense—his Peter tingle—for betraying him so brutally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, maybe he should have just been more thorough in his initial investigation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"WHAT THE FUCK—" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"AH! SHIT! SORRY—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MJ's towel is at her feet, her skin still glowing from a just-finished shower, and it takes everything in Peter's power to tear his gaze away from her as she just stands there naked. He immediately feels—and sees—her flashing eyes quickly and instinctively cross his body, barely landing on his, ahem, </span>
  <em>
    <span>nether regions</span>
  </em>
  <span> before flying back up to his face and fighting to stay there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's then that he remembers his dick is just </span>
  <em>
    <span>out there</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he hurries to cover himself with the crumpled up swim trunks. And it takes less than half-a-second after his eyes unconsciously dip to her breasts for </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> to scramble for her discarded towel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them says anything else in the next moment, both too shocked, frozen in sheer embarrassment at the sight of… well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>each other</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Peter looks at anything else in the room but at her, suddenly wondering if there had been anything on the website about an oxygen problem in the condo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stammers out another lame apology as he retreats back, making sure to keep his front facing her so that she doesn't get an eyeful of his other greatest asset. He doesn't look to see if she's still watching him; it's too dangerous. Already, he has to live with the fresh reminder of what his ex looks like naked—killer, by the way—that's permanently burned into his brain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, it's definitely not something he needs right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After throwing on boxers, clean sweats, and a wrinkled t-shirt, getting dressed faster than he ever has in his life, Peter runs from the condo after the </span>
  <em>
    <span>incident, </span>
  </em>
  <span>not wanting to wait around for MJ to come out of the bedroom. The idea of having to face her right now after just barging in on her, freshly showered and clean, and very naked, is probably the last thing he wants to do on this trip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned doesn't ask again when Peter shows up at his door, panicked and disheveled, and he lets him in without a word, even being so kind enough to offer up the shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter doesn't miss the way his friend's lip quirks upward into a teasing grin at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Ned's somehow able to hold back any comments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only laughs a little when Peter finally tells him what happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, maybe a lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Understandably, Peter doesn't return to his own condo for the rest of the morning, too petrified of even the chance of running into Michelle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's known from the very beginning that he can't avoid her on this trip forever. It's been clear from the get-go that not seeing her at all is impossible. At first, he'd only had to deal with the whole break-up thing—but adding an awkward, naked encounter right on top of an already hell-like experience makes everything about fifty times worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even hours later, into the mid-afternoon, as they get ready to venture out into the island for the first time. A tour of the Jurassic Valley at Kualoa Ranch—where, yes, parts of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jurassic Park</span>
  </em>
  <span> were filmed, along with many other films, something that Peter and Ned had demanded be on the itinerary from the very beginning—seemed like just the thing to pick up his spirits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, it doesn't help. At all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's stomach sloshes violently as he waits for the tour van with Ned and Flash—who's flight just landed not thirty minutes before. Flash is, of course, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Flash</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Still the same guy in high school who antagonized Peter and his friends every day, the same guy who yelled "Penis Parker!" everywhere he went, the same guy absolutely obsessed with his target's masked alter ego—but just the </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightest bit</span>
  </em>
  <span> more mature. Except now, he's a friend. Albeit, one that's still very much a dickhead from time to time, but a friend that they tolerate nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, kind of a friend. And he has his moments of maturity and what can be called kindness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, if anything, he's closer with Betty than anyone else, given that they ran in the same popular crowd in high school. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plus, Betty had made the very valid point that he'd give the best, most expensive gifts from their registry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had been no arguing inviting him after that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Flash's presence isn't what's causing Peter to want to bury himself alive in the sand and never come out; even when the guy starts taking an excessive amount of selfies, trying to get both Ned and Peter in the frame, and never once failing to capture what he calls the "essence of sadness" in Peter's expression in the background. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it's not just the way Paulina and Brad are all over each other as soon as they show up, barely even acknowledging anyone else before she's smashing his face against hers. And as nauseating as it is when the tour guide shows up and tells them, "Hold onto your butts!"—to which, Paulina takes the quote literally, and holds onto </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brad's</span>
  </em>
  <span> butt—that's not </span>
  <em>
    <span>the</span>
  </em>
  <span> problem. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, this need to empty the contents of his stomach into the nearest trash can comes from the final group that arrives; Betty, Betty's dad, and MJ.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MJ, who he hasn't seen since this morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned repeatedly tries to reassure Peter; maybe MJ's already forgotten the whole incident—which, haha, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fat chance</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Maybe MJ doesn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Maybe it's not as big a deal as Peter's making it out to be. Maybe all of this freaking out is pointless, and Peter should just laugh it off like any other dumbass mistake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But while none of what Ned says actually alleviates the burning mortification, Peter appreciates the fact that he's trying. It's enough to make him at least act like everything's okay—except now, he'll make more than a half-assed effort to act normal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Mr. Brant," Ned greets, holding his hand out with an easy smile. "Glad you made it!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter glues his eyes to a particular palm tree a few feet away, not taking any chances with MJ being so close. He tries not to think about the book she has in her hand, the backpack she has slung over her shoulder. He rocks back on his heels, squirming as he takes a step away, telling himself it's only to move out of the boiling sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicolas, or just Nick, grins back, taking his future son-in-law's hand into a firm, yet friendly handshake, clapping him on the arm. "Good to see you, Ned. Peter," He nods in kind acknowledgment, dropping his hand, looking over to his daughter and pulling her into his side. "Wouldn't miss Button's wedding for the world."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty flinches at the childhood nickname, though only out of mild embarrassment, her lips quirking into a content smile as she hugs her father back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it doesn't get past her fiance. "Button?" Ned asks, amused and surprised that in all the years he's known her, he's never heard that one before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty only laughs quietly, shaking her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yup," Nick says, matter-of-factly. "My Button. Cute as a button." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is everybody here?" The tour guide asks, his practiced beaming grin stretching from ear to ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty does a headcount. "Peter… MJ… Liz and Felicia are sleeping back at the hotel… Flash…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned glances around the group before turning to her. "Where's your mom and Brad?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She only rolls her eyes, not trying to stop the exasperated sigh that comes out of her mouth. Before she can answer, the clicking of fast-approaching heels and the shrill, "coming!" cuts her off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them—Paulina and Brad—are not the picture of innocence that they seem to think they are with their clothes a little too suspiciously disheveled. Brad, perhaps a little messier than his partner, a smudge of cherry red lipstick left on the underside of his jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're here!" Paulina says, still breathless. "I just had to uh—" She loses her breath again, laughing to herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shit-eating grin on Brad's face really sells it, and he, too, seems to be overcome with giggles. "Show me something… in the… in the bathroom."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty, whether she means to or not, puts her hand on her father's arm. He smiles tightly, his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses as he looks down. He taps his daughter's hand, nodding. "It's okay, Button." He looks up, Paulina already waiting to meet his gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello, Nicolas."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Paulina."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter wonders if this is the same suffocating awkwardness his friends feel when it's just him and MJ; if they always get the same urge to make a run for it every time he and MJ are in the same room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tour guide seems to sense the tension. He only falters for a split-second before clapping his hands together, and somehow, his smile's even bigger than the last one. "Alright, everyone! Let's get going! We've got a lot of park to cover!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One by one, they pile into the tour van, Mr. Brant taking the front seat next to the guide, Ned and Betty taking the two seats in the second row. Brad and Paulina hop into the third row, Paulina making sure to pinch her boy toy's backside one more time as she climbs in after him, leaving the far back seat. Three spaces left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wordlessly, MJ settles into the driver's side, sticking close to the window as she opens the book in her lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flash happily plops himself in between them, nudging Betty's mom on the shoulder, throwing in a wink. "Paulina, girl, you get more beautiful every time I see you, and that is not a line, that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>for real</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paulina cackles, waving him off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned turns around from his seat, mouthing a genuine,</span>
  <em>
    <span> "sorry,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Peter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Peter can't decide what's worse. This, being directly behind Mr. and Mrs. Handsy while also trapped listening to Flash Livestream to his </span>
  <em>
    <span>Flash-Mob</span>
  </em>
  <span>—yes, he's still trying that—or being completely alone with MJ. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, it's a bit of a toss-up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he knows right now is that he has to survive these next three hours. That's all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Easy-peasy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprisingly, it doesn't turn out to be all that difficult. The drive isn't too terribly long, though it's enough to make his legs ache when they finally reach the Jurassic Valley. MJ seems too preoccupied with her book—which, fittingly, happens to be the Michael Crichton classic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter can't help but think about he might have teased her about how on-the-nose that was if they were still together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And amazingly, a lot of Peter's stress starts to dissipate when he takes in the lush green mountains and trees around him. The open valley is stunning, that's for sure, and the fact that the same fallen dead tree that Dr. Grant, Lex, and Tim hide from the T-Rex under is pretty damn cool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flash is kind enough—a phrase Peter would have never imagined himself thinking—to take a picture of the group hiding behind the giant log, pretend-screaming at an imaginary Tyrannosaur behind the camera. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's something May will definitely have to see when she and Happy get here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Peter also can't help but notice MJ still holding her book as she poses, her expression comically impassive while everyone's faces are contorted in terror.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other tour groups are littered across the valley, taking in the different "dino-tastic" sights. Ned's watching them, his face wide in over-dramatic wonder. He gasps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time all day, Peter finds himself grinning. "What?" He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They're moving in herds," Ned says breathlessly, wiping a pretend tear from his eye as he points to a group of white tourists in their stereotypical vacation attire. "They </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> move in herds."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them veer off from the rest of the group, walking back to the giant trunk. Ned glances over his shoulder, grimacing at the sight of his future mother-in-law and his old classmate finding yet another place to obscenely suck face. "How…?" His question falls, cut off by a speechless laugh. "Do they always manage to find somewhere to—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Life," Peter stops him, trying his best to keep his expression serious. "Uh… finds a way."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned lets out a slightly undignified snort. He shakes his head. "Did you hear what Paulina said when we passed the brachiosaurus skeleton?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. What?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"That's not the biggest bone I've seen today."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>If Peter had been drinking water, he would have choked. "Oh my, </span>
  <em>
    <span>God."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I'm pretty sure if Betty was there, she would have killed her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter chuckles. While he's more than supportive of Paulina doing whatever—or whoever—the hell she wants, he feels for Betty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, his support absolutely does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> crossover into dry-humping in front of everyone in a public place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's pretty sure that there are literal children present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How are things with MJ? Since… </span>
  <em>
    <span>the incident</span>
  </em>
  <span>…?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned's question doesn't startle Peter, but he can't hide how it gives him pause. He bites the inside of his lip, his jaw tightening as he looks up into the valley. He almost wants to laugh, given how he can't seem to find a simple, one-word answer that fully covers it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It could be worse," Peter finally replies with a shrug. "We haven't spoken since. Which… I mean, isn't' all that different from before, so..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned nods, lips pressing together thoughtfully. Before he can say anything else, Betty's coming up behind him, wrapping her arms around one of his, asking something about dinner tonight—Peter's not sure; he hasn't been able to hear after the initial question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually—being the next five minutes—the tour guide calls them back to the van, and the tugging in Peter's gut returns when his eyes catch MJ's as he settles into his seat. His gaze snaps forward, and he swallows, tapping his fingers erratically against his knees as the van pulls onto the main road. They drive through the dense trees into the winding mountain passes, the twists and turns not doing anything to stop Peter's stomach from doing back handsprings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Peter knows the tour guide is telling them all about the other movies that were filmed in this area; some fun facts about </span>
  <em>
    <span>50 First Dates</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Peter Jackson's </span>
  <em>
    <span>King Kong,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but honestly, he can't focus long enough for his brain to commit any of that to his short-term memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The van reaches the next stop, something-or-other from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lost</span>
  </em>
  <span>—again, Peter's having a very difficult time listening, even with his enhanced hearing. It doesn't have anything to do with their guide—whose name is suddenly lost on him—obviously. What' s-his-name is doing a great job. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Probably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After an introduction from their friendly tour guide, the group breaks off, and Peter sticks closely to Ned and Betty, following behind them like a lost puppy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>MJ seems to have the same idea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And unfortunately, Ned and Betty either don't notice, or they've both silently agreed to ignore their friends. They keep a fair distance ahead, walking hand-in-hand at a pace that Peter has to assume is only done on purpose. He doesn't try so hard to keep up with them, and he immediately notices MJ doing the same as he glances at her from the corner of his eye, practically miles away from him, still walking and reading her copy of Jurassic Park, now a good fourth of the way through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a tiny voice in his head, screaming at him to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>; something preferably polite and not petty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though, at that moment, the only topic that comes to mind other than her breaking his heart is the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>'Oops! I accidentally saw you naked!'</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing, and well, he feels like that's not the best ice-breaker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, it's better than nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey—" He finds himself trying to speak, an annoying lump in his throat causing him to almost choke on the word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>MJ glances up, the corners of her mouth tightening as she looks at him expectantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter feels himself shrink under her gaze. Maybe it's not better than nothing after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry about—" He forces a cough, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, his ears burning pink. "—about… Uh… this morning. With… you know—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's fine," she quickly cuts him off, snapping her gaze back to her book as she chews at the inside of her cheek, though he can tell that she's not actually reading. She tucks a loose curl behind her ear. "I mean, it's not like we haven't… seen each other…" It's her turn to clear her throat. Her silence finishes that particular sentence for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Peter didn't feel so God damn awkward, he might laugh at their struggle to use basic words. Well, he does, but it comes out as more of a strangled choke than anything. "Yeah," He says, reminding himself to take a breath. "Right. Right."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MJ doesn't say anything else as she pushes her pace slightly; it's not much, but it's enough to where she's more than a few feet ahead of him, ending the conversation before it can actually start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like that, that swirling bottomless pit in his gut comes right back, his heart feeling heavy enough to maybe crack a few ribs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, even feeling like he might need to go throw up in the bushes, Peter also can't help but feel the slightest hint of relief having finally talked to her. In a normal, polite—albeit, maybe a little tense and kind of forced—conversation. It makes him start to think that maybe they can get through this whole week without killing each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clearly, she has no interest in actually interacting with him, but this has only shown that if they have to, they can totally talk to each other like adults. No animosity. No immaturity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's all about taking baby steps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now more than ever, Peter feels not </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely</span>
  </em>
  <span> unwilling to take them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tour ends after the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lost</span>
  </em>
  <span> set-thing, their tour guide—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Craig! That's his name</span>
  </em>
  <span>—thanking them profusely while simultaneously reminding them to leave the company a review on Yelp—it really helps them out, Craig says—as he drops them off in one of the hotel-strip parking lots in the early evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dinner with both Brant parents isn't nearly as terrible as Peter might have guessed it would be. It hadn't even taken much convincing to get them to agree to come, both of them competitive in who's more </span>
  <em>
    <span>there for Betty.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And for the most part, Nick's able to ignore Paulina and her antics—even the gross, over-the-top ones—from his end of the table. He only focuses on his daughter and her friends, excluding Brad, of course. Still, there's that underlying tension in the way he approaches his small-talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"How's your aunt, Peter?" "Eugene, how's school been?" "MJ, any new book recommendations?" "Ned, when are your parents getting here?" </span>
  </em>
  <span>There's a tightness to his polite smile as he listens intently to their answers, all while Paulina and Brad are preoccupied with playing a not-subtle-at-all game of footsie underneath the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After dinner, Betty's dad calls it a night, making sure to hug his daughter and pat his future son-in-law on the back before he heads back to his hotel. Of course, Paulina and Brad make up some half-assed reason as to why they need to head back to their place immediately, and no one even argues with them as they too-excitedly excuse themselves. After hearing that they're meeting Felicia and Liz later at their hotel bar-slash-nightclub for drinks, Flash sticks with the main group, not wanting to pass up the chance to "keep the party going." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it's now—after heading back to the condo and spending a solid thirty minutes of silence as the two of them changed out of their daytime clothes into casual bar attire, after he'd casually made a mental note of how MJ's dress swayed with the evening breeze on the walk to the hotel—that Peter doesn't quite know what to do with himself.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Felicia and Liz had both offered each of them quick, enthusiastic hugs as the party walked into the rooftop bar, the two of them having already saved a table under the poolside awning. Surprisingly, Brad's also there, sans Paulina—he says that she's doing a cleanse, or something, and she can't drink on Tuesdays. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Which makes perfect sense,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter thinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Note the use of sarcasm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even without his other half here, Brad's presence is no less annoying. Every time he opens his mouth, Peter has to fight to keep his eyes from rolling out of their sockets. Mostly because every single word that comes out of Brad seems to be directed right at MJ. Why he seems so intent on ignoring everyone else at the table, Peter has no idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what's more confusing is the fact that nobody else seems bothered by him being there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Especially MJ. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach twists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Flash orders a round of tequila shots for the table, Peter doesn't hesitate. He just needs to loosen up, thinking that maybe a drink or two will provide some decent distraction. And at first, it does, his problems momentarily tossed out the window as he throws the shot back, the liquor going down his throat and burning into his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then the feeling fades, and he's left with a dull warmth radiating throughout his body and the taste of lime and salt on his tongue, his problems—Brad, MJ, everything, etc.—still very much present and on his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why is she even letting him talk to her? He was the worst in high school, and he's still the worst now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter truly doesn't understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even in his sour mood, he manages a genuine smile when Gwen and Miles finally drop by with travel-weary, fresh-off-a-twelve-hour-flight grins. They don't stay long at all, both of them too tired to fully enjoy a night of drinking with friends, retreating back to their room after making their rounds of hugs and hellos, and after Miles jokes about all the keg stands they're going to do at the rehearsal dinner on Thursday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another round of drinks, and Peter's only finding himself falling even more into whatever god awful pit this is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are three different conversations at the table, and Peter's taking part in none of them. He barely listens to whatever Ned, Betty, and Liz are talking about. Flash is unsurprisingly using this opportunity to hit on Felicia, not realizing that his passes aren't exactly landing. Still, Felicia looks amused, which is probably why she doesn't stop him from making a total dick of himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And of course, Brad and MJ are still chatting along, happy as ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that's cool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter loses count of the rounds as the evening goes on, downing free drink after free drink—if Flash's credit card is paying for everything, Peter's not going to be the one to stop him. But the tingling, floaty feeling that comes with his fifth drink still doesn't do anything to mask the frustration and bitterness bubbling just underneath the surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone else at the table seems to be in the same inebriated state, though perhaps more joyful than he is. Their conversations are muddled, muted under the fuzziness in Peter's brain. His eyes can't seem to keep up with his head as he looks around the table, still sitting silently, moping into his second gin and tonic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gaze lands clumsily on Michelle, drawn to how she's holding her head in her hands as she half-listens to whatever the hell Brad is talking about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I need another drink," she says, cutting off her conversation partner, sitting back in her chair and stretching her arms. "Do I get another Old Fashioned, though? Or something else?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brad, a great deal more drunk—MJ being just past tipsy—scrunches his face in concentration, putting more thought into what she should get for her next drink than probably any other decision he's ever made for himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, Peter assumes so, as he watches from the corner of his eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Something new," Brad finally says after a too-long pause. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>MJ doesn't seem convinced. "Ehhhhhhhh… I dunno." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You've already had one, though," Brad points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tilts her head, lips twisting. "I mean yeah, but I know I like those." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another beat passes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe I just don't get another drink."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scoff that comes out of Peter's mouth is involuntary. He tries to hide it behind another slow sip of his own drink, training his gaze forward as he feels hers burn into him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" She's careful in her question, though her tone is laced in annoyance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nothing!" Peter holds his hand up in defense. "Nothing at all. Just…" He bites at his lip, feeling something in him getting dangerously close to completely boiling over. "You can't make a decision. Like, a really simple one. It's just funny to me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes narrow as her arms fold across her chest. "What?" She asks again, pressing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head, his laugh devoid of all humor. "Do you want the drink? Do you not want the drink? Do you want an Old Fashioned? Or do you want something new? I dunno—" He gestures wildly. "This back and forth. It's…" His stare turns distant. "Familiar." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Peter, what the hell are you talking about?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you want the drink, or not? Just pick the damn drink."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's drunk, borderline hammered. He knows this. He knows that picking a fight is the last thing he should be doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he just can't help himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brad, completely and utterly forgotten, glances between the two, thoroughly confused. "It's just drinks, guys…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"God, I'm just not gonna get another." MJ runs an exasperated hand over her face, rubbing her temples. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And again, Peter finds himself chuckling, his sardonic smile not reaching his eyes as he tips his glass to Brad. "Aw, MJ. You and your commitment issues again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's then that her eyes snap up to meet his, an anger behind them that he hasn't seen. Wordlessly, she grabs his arm, her grip tight as she yanks him up from the table, dragging him behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell is your problem?" Anyone would assume MJ's sober if it weren't for the slight slur to her words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He quirks an eyebrow at her—at least, he thinks he does; he's not entirely sure he has full control of his facial muscles right now. "All I'm saying is if you want the drink, you gotta get it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her nostrils flare, her jaw tightening as she starts to walk away from him, following the pool's edge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't let up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I mean if you don't want the drink—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you really doing this right now?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I dunno. Am I? What am I doing, Mich—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"God! Can you shut up—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let me guess; the drink's pressuring you, or whatever—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she finally spins around, their noses are mere inches apart. Peter's next words catch as he realizes just how close they are, and his eyes betray him by instinctively dipping to her parted mouth and back up. He can smell the bourbon on her breath as it mingles with his own. The events from that morning flash through his mind, and he can't help the way he wants to lean in closer, his heart pounding in his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels as though they're being pulled together, and he does everything he can to ignore the confused alarms going off in his brain. He has no idea what's going on, or how either of them got here, but he can't find it in himself to care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it all comes crashing down—literally—when MJ stumbles forward in her slightly inebriated state. Peter instantly reaches out to keep her from falling into the pool, which turns out to be an even bigger mistake, given how she grabs onto him with enough force that he trips, pulling the two of them into the shallow end of the pool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In one minute, Peter's leaning in to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> with his ex, the next he's given a big, cold, chlorine-filled slap in the face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, the two of them seem to have enough sense to land in a way that keeps them both free from any kind of injury, both of the resurfacing less than two seconds after they hit the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter coughs, watery eyes blinking in confusion as he tries to process what's just happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, he finds himself chuckling, unable to stop himself in his drunken state, even as a crowd—mostly made up of their friends—has clamored to the edge of the pool, yelling at them to get out of the water. He stops almost immediately, though, when he turns and sees MJ in the same giggly state. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her expression falls as soon as their eyes meet, and the same contempt from before comes right back as she stubbornly tears her gaze away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any shred of hope he had for the rest of the week is shattered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even drunk off his ass, without any of his normal inhibitions, Peter realizes that he may have gone too far. He may have said too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hits him like a truck. Not for the first time—and certainly not the last—he's </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked up</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter's not sure he's ever been more nervous in his entire life. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Leaping from building to building, climbing skyscrapers, swinging recklessly around New York on just a few threads, easy. No problem. He can do it all with his eyes closed. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But it pales in comparison to this. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter almost feels like he's blindfolded, stumbling around in the dark, fumbling for anything that might help him get out of this in one piece, bumping his knees on every metaphorical coffee table. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But then why should he be so nervous? This is MJ. She loves him. He loves her. There's no reason for his hands to be sweating right now, absolutely no reason for him to feel like his heart is going to fall out of his ass. Sure, they haven't talked about this yet—the idea of marriage—since they've been dating, but hey.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There's a first time for everything, right?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's something they're going to have to talk about eventually, given how serious their current relationship is, so Peter figures the best way to do it is to just rip the matrimonial band-aid right off. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And sure, she's not exactly kept her feelings on marriage a secret from him. From their early years of friendship, she's been adamant that wedded bliss isn't for her. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But that was in high school. And they weren't together then. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Things are different now for both of them. They're in love. They're in a stable relationship, one that feels like it could be their best and their last. He can't imagine his life without her, and he's a thousand percent sure that he never wants to experience a world where she's not roasting him for putting too much sugar in his coffee, or telling him all about the latest true crime she's read about; a world where he doesn't get to kiss her all over her face as she's fighting back a smile honestly sounds miserable, and he pities everyone who has to live in it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And he knows that she feels the same way, though she's not one for the overdramatic, hopeless romantic shit like he is. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, after all of that, there's no reason to be so scared. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And when MJ looks up at him from behind her tea, softly smiling into the cup as the sun sets behind her, Peter's worries start to melt away as they sit together on the roof of their apartment. Honestly, he feels like a man on the moon, not knowing when he's going to come down or if he ever wants to. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You good?" She asks, nudging him gently with her foot.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He wants to marry her. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He wants to marry</span>
  </em>
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span> her</span>
    </em>
  </strong>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Me?" His heart feels like it's about to burst right out of his chest—in a good, no, </span>
  </em>
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span>great</span>
    </em>
  </strong>
  <em>
    <span> way—as his hand subconsciously goes to rest over his pocket. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She snorts, one of his favorite sounds. "Yeah. You, dork."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Huffing out a laugh, his hands toying with the hem of his sweatshirt, she shakes his head fondly. When his eyes meet hers, and he sees the humor in them, the way the corner of her lip is quirked upward in a quiet smile, he almost forgets how to breathe. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I'm great," he tells the truth, though he starts to feel the nerves creeping up again. He comes to his own rescue, leaning in and pulling her into a sweet kiss, the taste of chamomile and honey on her lips. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her smile stays even as he pulls back, his hand resting on the side of her face, his thumb tenderly smoothing over her cheek. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I love you," he breathes, planting another soft kiss on her lips. "So—" A kiss on her cheek. "—Much." A kiss on the tip of her nose. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Ah." Her face wrinkles in feigned disgust at the gooeyness of it all, and she laughs when his smile turns into a pout. "I love you, too."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's then that Peter feels the pull at his chest, his stomach flipping. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"MJ…" His breath catches as he looks down at his hands wringing together. "I—" He sighs. "You are… my best friend. In the entire world."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"What about Ned?" She jokes, biting the inside of her lip when he looks up at her. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter shakes his head. "Nope. It's you."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me," she deadpans. "But, I'm telling him you said that."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Don't you dare!" </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Hold on, gonna text him now…" </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Em…" Peter pleads. "Let me be serious!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her eye roll is playful as she puts her phone back in her pocket. "Okay, fine. I won't tell. Continue." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter's sure he's seeing things, but he almost thinks there's an edge to her voice at the end, a certain nervousness in her stare that he can't quite place, but it's gone before he can think more about it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Once again, his hand moves to his pocket as he continues his speech, his heart leaping into his throat as his own nerves come rushing back. "I love you," he says again, a breathy chuckle bubbling up out of him as he tries to subtly dry his hands on the tops of his jean-clad thighs. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I love you, too," she repeats easily. "You big sap."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Honestly, I can't even imagine what my life would be without you in it. I don't wanna imagine. You're just… You're everything to me, and I like you </span>
  </em>
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span>so much</span>
    </em>
  </strong>
  <em>
    <span>. I'm so glad we're together."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Where's all this coming from?" Michelle asks, glancing down at her boots, tucking a curl behind her ear. She doesn't look back up at him, twisting a loose thread of her dress between her fingers.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter almost doesn't hear her question, but he still ignores it. "I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, Em."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I—"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She doesn't get a chance to continue. Peter sits up on his knees, pulling from his pocket a black velvet box.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A simple ring sits inside the small box, the smoky salt and pepper diamond sparkling under the late-evening sun, smaller white crystals gleaming on either side. It'd been weeks of searching for the perfect one, the one that felt the most MJ to him. He'd always known the stereotypical, gaudy diamond wasn't for her. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But this one feels like hers. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She's frozen as she stares at him, her eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. "Peter…"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Marry me?" He asks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There's a certain silence that falls, one that makes him more uneasy as the seconds pass. Michelle's hands move to cover her mouth, her gaze burning into the ring in his hand. "I—" Her words seem to get caught in her throat, Peter feeling his own emotion welling up within him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But when she finally looks up at him, his heart almost stops.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Yes."</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>OOPS BYE</p><p>Peter you absolute dumbass what did u do</p><p>follow me on tumblr @spiderman-homecomeme and on twitter @smhomecomeme!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Triple Ex</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again!! Sorry this chapter took a little longer, but it's here now! And my sincerest apologies because this one is LONG lol </p><p>Thank you to everyone reading, commenting, and leaving kudos!! the response to the last chapter was so great and it made me SO HAPPY!! You guys are the best!</p><p>Enjoy this next one!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"MJ?" </p><p>Betty—dressed in a fluffy pink bathrobe, her eyes puffy with sleep as she exchanges a wary smile with Ned—slides into the barstool across from her friend. </p><p>Michelle looks up from the coffee maker on the kitchen island, her gaze darting right and left as she finishes scooping the fresh grounds into the filter. "Yeah?" She asks, trying a little too hard to maintain an air of quiet nonchalance, but she doesn't miss the quick—vaguely annoyed—glance that Ned and Betty throw each other. </p><p>There's still a smudge of mascara under Betty's eyes, having been the slightest bit unsuccessful taking her makeup off in the dark the night before. Ned looks as though he's going to be sick, as if it's taking every ounce of strength he has to keep last night's drinks in his stomach and not all over the lovely countertops.</p><p><em> Dramatic,  </em>MJ thinks as her head pounds, her eyes weighing ten pounds each. "What's up?" </p><p>Ned grins carefully, though there's a certain exhaustion to his tone as he speaks. "Don't take this the wrong way…" </p><p>"We're always happy to hang out…" Betty continues. </p><p>MJ knows damn well where this conversation is going. Still, that doesn't keep her from acting like everything's perfectly fine and normal.  </p><p>"But…" Ned pauses, looking to Betty again. His lips press into a line as he tilts his head. "Why are you here?"</p><p>Instead of reacting in any way, shape, or form that could give away her actual motive, Michelle simply points to the coffee pot. "Making coffee." It's obvious what she's doing. Don't they both have a set of working eyes?</p><p>No, this isn't just a dumb ploy to get away from Peter. What's so weird about wanting to come over and share a morning cup o' joe with her best friends?</p><p>Ned blinks, unconvinced and unimpressed. "At 7 AM?"</p><p>MJ glances to the side, not meeting his eyes. </p><p>"Sunrise coffee." </p><p>She's met with blank, hungover, Done-with-a-trademark-emoji stares. </p><p>Betty puts her head in her hands, sighing heavily. "MJ—"</p><p>"Creamer?" Michelle blurts, spinning around on her feet and yanking the refrigerator door open, hiding from both her friends and the impending doom of <em> that  </em>conversation. While she's afraid that this week has already been more about her and her ex-fiancé than the actual soon-to-be-newlyweds due to their inability to be cool about anything, she doesn't want to make matters worse than they already are. And talking about anything concerning Peter would undoubtedly make things worse. </p><p>Ned and Betty are silent as she hurries about the kitchen doing nothing in particular, opening and closing cabinets with a made-up sense of purpose as the coffee brews. Their eyes meet, understanding between them, something that Michelle doesn't miss, even in her admittedly frazzled state. </p><p>"I—" Ned starts, the annoyance in his expression fading slightly. "We know you're going through a lot—"</p><p>"What am I going through?" MJ cuts him off, frozen in place, her eyes blown wide with innocence. </p><p>"Denial," Betty mutters, her comment almost going unnoticed.</p><p>Michelle frowns.</p><p>"And we know that you and Peter have your problems with… each other—"</p><p>"Oh, no. I'm not the one with the problem," Michelle insists, as if that's the dumbest thing she's ever heard, trying to convince them and herself that everything coming out of her mouth isn't complete bullshit. "I'm—I'm over it. And—and Peter… He's the one who can't just move on. He—" She stops, releasing a sharp puff of air as she looks down at her hands. There's a bitterness to her tone, one that she can't take hold of. "He made that <em> perfectly </em> clear last night," she says under her breath, huffing out a sardonic laugh as she turns to grab a ceramic mug from the cabinet.</p><p>
  <em> Commitment issues. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Commitment issues? </em>
</p><p><em> Is  </em> <strong> <em> that  </em> </strong> <em> what he thought the problem was? </em></p><p>Ned fixes her with a stern glare. "MJ." </p><p>The way Michelle's heart constricts with guilt forces her arms across her chest. She looks down at her feet, rocking back as she chews the inside of her lip, and though she's a good five to seven inches taller than both of them, she feels like a child under their gazes. It's obvious how much she and Peter's constant, immature back-and-forth is wearing on them. </p><p>She's not an idiot. </p><p>"No, I'm—I…" She sniffs as she shakes her head. "Just…" Her chest feels tight, the beginnings of an annoying lump in her throat as she plays with her fingers. Everything from the last twenty-four hours—the naked incident, the tour, the drunken argument at the bar—has been on a constant, neverending replay, keeping her awake with eyes glued to the ceiling until the sun came up. She wants to kick herself for letting his words get to her, for losing any sense of cool she had after only a few drinks. It's all hazy, the memories melting and warping together, but it's enough to make her face warm and chest ache. </p><p>"It's—" MJ shrugs, huffing out a tired laugh as she grabs the pot, annoyed that she's been reduced to a bumbling mess, and she can't seem to get more than a fraction of a sentence out.</p><p>
  <em> It's not as easy as I thought it'd be. </em>
</p><p>A beat passes as she starts to pour her coffee. </p><p>"We know," Betty says quietly, understanding.  </p><p>MJ swallows. "Yeah…"</p><p>The patience her best friends have for them never ceases to amaze her. The last three months are proof enough of its capacity. Frankly, she and Peter don't deserve either of them—a thought that might make her laugh under normal circumstances. </p><p>But it doesn't. </p><p>The question of what the hell to do about Peter drowns everything else out, so much so, that she doesn't realize when her cup starts to overflow. </p><p>Ned tries to warn her. "MJ!" </p><p>"Shit!" She hisses, using what little sense she has left to set both the mug and the pot on the counter without breaking either and yanking her hand away. </p><p>Betty jumps up from her spot, rushing over to check the damage. "Are you okay?"</p><p>MJ wants to laugh. "Fine. Totally fine," she struggles through clenched teeth, ignoring the fact that she's just spilled boiling hot coffee on her hand.</p><p>Betty seems to fight back an eye roll as she grabs MJ's not-scalded hand, dragging her over to the sink. She flips the tap on and allows the cold water to run over the burn, Ned watching silently from the island. </p><p>Wincing as the cold water stings her hot skin, MJ squeezes her eyes shut. Though, her contorted expression isn't from the pain. It's more from the further embarrassment of being so lost in her thoughts, her ex-fiancé so easily distracting her without even being in the same room, so permanently under her skin, that she can't seem to function properly. It's infuriating. It's juvenile. </p><p>It's so <em> high school. </em></p><p>"Okay, now you're stuck here for…" Betty looks up at the clock on the wall. "Twenty minutes or so." She fixes her with a glare a mother might give to a brooding teenager. "Are you okay?"</p><p>MJ sniffs, looking down at her hand. "Eh. Yeah. Kinda stings a little, but—"</p><p>"You know what I mean."</p><p>
  <em> Sure do. </em>
</p><p>Michelle's shoulders fall with a weighted sigh, and she finds herself smiling sadly for the umpteenth time. "I mean… Yeah? It's all… It's all part of the process, isn't it?" </p><p>Betty tilts her head, brow knitting in concern. "MJ…"</p><p>"And I don't think it's going to get better. Like… It's been three days, and…" She shrugs. "I still hate him." </p><p>It's then that Ned pipes up from his spot at the bar. "Maybe you could take a day off? Just kinda… hang out on the beach all day. You can read… some books? I dunno. Have the condo to yourself for a few hours…"</p><p>MJ's head jerks back, her brows scrunching in bewilderment. "No. Then I'll miss the big mountain hike… and—and the sunset cruise? No. I'm going."</p><p>"MJ—"</p><p>"I'm not gonna let Peter keep me from spending time with you guys. I can just ignore him."</p><p>The look that both Ned and Betty give her speaks volumes. </p><p>"What?" She asks, her face and neck warming under their pointed stares.</p><p>Ned narrows his eyes. "Didn't you vote against the <em> Stairway to Heaven </em> thing? You—you don't even like heights!"</p><p>"I don't," MJ nods, her mouth quirking into a reasonable frown, though she'd be lying if she said that she didn't feel the slightest bit called-out about that phobia of hers. She rushes to explain herself. "But that doesn't mean I don't wanna hang out." </p><p>No, the idea of climbing the <em> Stairway to Heaven </em> , aka the  <em> Haʻikū Stairs </em> , a winding mountain trail of about four-thousand steps— <em> metal </em> fucking stair steps—does not appeal in the slightest to Michelle. The thought alone of walking along the peak of a mountain with nothing but a rusty old staircase holding her up makes her stomach do cartwheels—the bad kind. </p><p>But if it's something that Ned and Betty want to do, then damn it, she'll participate. She loves her friends, and she's not about to let that dick—or a debilitating fear of heights—keep her from going. </p><p>And as for the cruise—the one future Mr. and Mrs. Brant had planned before the Breakup™ for the four of them to go on… Well, it wasn't that big of a deal. It's just a nice dinner with her two friends on a boat in the middle of the ocean while the sun sets over them. There's not anything remotely difficult about it. </p><p>An entire evening without the rest of the group acting as her conversation shield is something she should be able to stomach. </p><p>Alright, so maybe Ned and Betty have a point—even without saying anything at all; ignoring Peter is probably, definitely impossible. There's absolutely no way he can get through an entire day without being an annoying little shit. Her faith in him to be an adult in all situations has dwindled to nothing—more so after the past few days. And it seems that her will and patience to deal with <em> everything </em>  have gone with it, especially after last night's drunken, venomous comments that were  <em> clearly </em> not just about an Old Fashioned. </p><p>However, all of that being said doesn't mean she's not going to at least try. </p><p>It could be argued that she's already told herself this and that it—in fact—did not work out in the first place. (See: <em> blender incident, bar fight </em>.) But screw that, MJ's done with arguing.</p><p>Ned eyes her carefully, before relenting, not wanting to bicker with her. "Okay…" He says with a not-entirely-convinced shrug.</p><p>Betty seems just as, if not more, skeptical. She keeps her thoughts to herself, her lips pressing into a tight line as she disappears into the bedroom, leaving Ned and MJ in a heavy silence. Ned twists his lips in thought as he glances around the room, visibly trying to work through what he wants to say. It's almost enough to make MJ want to interject before he can.</p><p>"MJ?" </p><p>He beats her to it.</p><p>"Yeah?" She asks, not looking up from her hand still under the cold running water. </p><p>"If things get too much… being there… with Peter... just let us know," he says gently. "Okay?"</p><p>She still doesn't meet his eyes, pressing her lips together to keep the frown from deepening. The muscles in her face tighten, and she once again loses any grasp on the English language as she prematurely shuts the faucet off. "Okay."</p><p>While she appreciates Ned's worry, she's not sure what exactly he plans on doing if things get "too much," as he says. What's his plan? Send Peter back to the condo? Send <em> her </em> back and hope that the awkwardness just disappears like that? And if they stay—or both of them refuse to leave—what then? Make himself a human divider the whole time, ignoring his fiancée just to keep his two best friends from strangling each other? </p><p>No, MJ loves Ned and all, and she knows that his heart's in the right place, but she's not naïve enough to think that his intervention would be any more than just throwing a smiley band-aid on a stab wound. </p><p>As she said before, it's all part of the process.</p><p>Her hand still stinging, she makes up an excuse to head back to the condo, not wanting to be the sole subject to any more of Betty and Ned's pity-slash-judgment. </p><p>But then, she forgets, of course, in her sleep-deprived state, as she's walking back, that Peter is very likely to still be there, still sound asleep.</p><p>Out of the frying pan and into the fire, the saying goes.</p><p>Then again, he had gone surfing the morning before. If she's lucky, maybe he's decided to make that a daily thing. </p><p>But she's not lucky. At all. He's still there. Very much awake. Not asleep. Munching on some toast as he sips his morning brew that she <em> knows </em>  has more creamer in it than actual coffee. His eyes meet hers as she opens and closes the door behind her, the soft  <em> click  </em>cutting through the thick silence. </p><p>She gives a stiff nod, unsure why she's even bothering to acknowledge him while she pointedly ignores the way her heart feels like it's trying to claw its way out of her chest.</p><p>Peter nods in return, looking down after a beat and taking another bite of toast. He seems to struggle for a bit, trying to find something to focus on, something to make him look busy. He settles on pointlessly stirring his coffee.</p><p>She doesn't know why she stands there at the front door for so long, seemingly frozen, unable to take even the tiniest step forward as she unconsciously wrings her hands together. It's not as if she's waiting for <em> him </em> to say something—at least something that doesn't involve their current dynamic. There's a prickling behind her eyes and throat. </p><p>It had been a sadder, colder feeling at Ned and Betty's, but now…</p><p>Seeing him again after last night wipes her brain, leaving nothing but the stinging petty jabs and the distant smell of chlorine. </p><p>Michelle doesn't say anything—not that she even cares to try—as she moves to the bedroom, the sliding door ungodly loud as she shuts it behind her. Even alone, she still can't relax knowing he's on the other side, eating his stupid toast, drinking his stupid coffee—she only briefly reflects on the fact that all of this immaturity and tension in her shoulders and neck is going to cause a heap of problems for future-her. </p><p>Blowing out a harsh puff of air before rolling her shoulders, she checks the time. </p><p>Barely eight o'clock. </p><p>Well, there's some time—some time being two hours—for her to get some sleep before the hike later, the thought of which still makes her want to run to the toilet and empty the two sips of coffee she'd had not even an hour before. She unconsciously wipes her hands on her shorts. </p><p>This is all for Ned and Betty.</p><p>This is all for Ned and Betty.</p><p>She opens her eyes, not quite realizing she'd screwed them shut in the first place, letting out a long breath. </p><p>A nap will help.</p><p>Sleep will make this more bearable.</p><p>What she needs is rest.</p><p>She doesn't remember at what point after flopping face-first into the mattress, burying her head in the pillow, yanking the blanket on top of her, squeezing her eyes closed, and willing herself to fall asleep that anything happens—but she curses whatever higher power is in charge of the passage of time. </p><p>Because she just fucking <em> blinks </em> and suddenly the bedside clock has the audacity to read 9:30 AM. </p><p>As it turns out, her little cat-nap did jack-shit.</p><p>The feelings of anxiety bubbling within her are still very much there, and more and more, it seems that they're dead set on overstaying their welcome, unfortunately making themselves at home. </p><p>Her entire body protests as she sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes with frustrated hands, half of the blanket falling to the floor as she kicks her feet over the edge. There's faint rustling coming from the other side of the bedroom door as she changes into more hike-appropriate attire, Peter no doubt in a rush to get out of there before she emerges. </p><p>She doesn't give him the chance, though. </p><p>He freezes when she opens the door again, his mouth hanging open dumbly, his eyes wide. The look lasts for less than a second before he's tearing his gaze away and bending down to tie his shoelaces. </p><p>But she can feel his eyes on her again as she goes to grab her own shoes, burning into the back of her neck as she sits to slide them on. It causes something to flare in her stomach, and she blinks, swallowing her biting retort—to his <em> silent staring </em>. </p><p>But the anger wells within her, and she looks back, catching his eyes just as he's glancing away. It's almost too brief an exchange, but she swears that there's something in them that she hates, something too familiar, something too similar to that damn puppy-dog look that he'd always pull when he'd felt even the slightest hint of guilt. </p><p>She wants to scream. </p><p>And she worries that she actually might when he wordlessly follows her out of the condo, continuing his not so subtle glances up as he trails behind her. </p><p>The group is waiting in the parking lot for them, standing in front of a large black van, similar to the one from the tour yesterday. Ned and Miles are finishing loading the hiking-slash-picnic supplies into the back, high-fiving as they toss the last bag into the back (then flinching when Betty scolds them for throwing said bag). Michelle uses this as a chance to escape Peter, finding refuge in whatever Gwen, Liz, and Felicia are talking about. </p><p>"Nice van," she hears Peter comment. </p><p>She doesn't roll her eyes. </p><p>At all.</p><p>Not even a little bit.</p><p>"Isn't it?" Betty asks, squinting underneath her sunglasses as she smiles. "Dad rented it for us. I told him we were planning to just call two Ubers or something, but—" she laughs lightly. "He insisted this would be better."</p><p>"I mean, he's not wrong," Ned adds. </p><p>"Yeah…" Betty trails off, shaking her head fondly</p><p>As curious as she is, MJ doesn't ask her to divulge exactly how much Mr. Brant spent on the rental van in question, even when she climbs in behind Liz and immediately notices the chic black leather interior as they take the second row. Miles and Gwen are in the third row, Miles playfully trying to keep his fingers interlocked with Gwen's as she struggles to get her seatbelt on.</p><p>"Dude!" She scolds, holding back a laugh. </p><p>"I don't wanna get lost," he jokes, trying—and failing—to sound serious.</p><p>Despite her mood, Michelle's surprised when the corner of her mouth tugs upward.</p><p>"We're in the van!"</p><p>"Babe!" Ned gasps from his place at the front. He's in the driver's seat, Betty right next to him, pulling up the navigation app on her phone as her fiancé excitedly plays with the different controls on the dash. </p><p>"Seat warmers!" </p><p>Betty glances up from her phone. "It's ninety degrees."</p><p>"So?" His head jerks back. "Doesn't mean I can't prank you by turning it on when you're not paying attention."</p><p>The look she gives him says, <em> don't you dare </em>, but she can't seem to fight the smile threatening to crack. </p><p>Growing restless from just sitting, MJ searches the rest of the lush, probably-overly-priced rental. Liz, her seatmate, is preoccupied with an email—from work, MJ assumes—on her phone, her expression one of faint concentration, though too much to hold a conversation.</p><p>A laugh—dangerously close to a giggle—comes from the back of the van. MJ doesn't even have to turn her head to know that it's Felicia, no doubt reacting to something Peter said—something that MJ can safely assume wasn't even that funny to begin with. </p><p>As hard as she tries to keep her head locked on the seat in front of her, she dares a glance over her shoulder. The guilty, kicked-puppy look is gone from Peter's face, any traces of it having vanished in the short distance between the condo and the van's interior as he talks to Felicia, sandwiched between her and Flash.</p><p>As she says something in response—MJ can't seem to hear anything but the blood rushing in her ears; <em> very strange </em>—his attention drifts slightly as he glances away. His eyes meet hers for the briefest of moments before he quickly looks away again. </p><p>Heat rushes to Michelle's face as she whips her head back to the front. </p><p>Ned—finally satisfied with the button pushing, both on the dashboard and his fiancée—pulls the van out of the parking lot and onto the main road. </p><p>"No Paulina and Brad?" MJ asks Betty, distracting herself more than anything. </p><p>"Nope." Betty looks over her shoulder, lips pressing together, though she doesn't seem bothered by her mother skipping out on this excursion. "Mom said she and Brad had to talk about their relationship."</p><p>MJ's not sure whether to be concerned or not at Paulina's relationship taking such a turn. Still, her brows pinch together. "Oh… No?"</p><p>The corners of Betty's mouth tug into a quick, tired smile. "See, I thought that, too. But I'm pretty sure that was another code for just having sex."</p><p>Michelle huffs in amusement, almost a scoff. </p><p>A beat passes as Ned merges onto the highway. </p><p>Another quiet chuckle from Felicia is heard. </p><p>"Where's your dad?" Liz jumps in, having pocketed her phone. She leans forward on her shoulders, flashing a kind grin and a silent <em> hello, sorry </em> to Michelle. </p><p>This time, Betty takes a moment to point something out on the map to Ned before responding. "He said he was too old to climb a mountain, but I have a feeling he just wanted to read one of his novels about war boats or something on the beach."</p><p>"Sounds about right," Liz replies with a nod.</p><p>Or at least, that's what Michelle thinks she hears. She's not sure. The highway's roar and Felicia's little, intermittent laughs at what-the-fuck-ever is too loud for anything else to get through the filters. More than anything, she wants to listen to what Liz has to say about how her first official year of law school's going, given the two haven't seen each other in a few good years, and how she's genuinely interested in hearing about how her old friend's life is going post-undergrad. </p><p>But again, it's suddenly difficult to focus on anything but the muffled conversation coming from the far backseat. </p><p>And it's then, as they drive further and further into the mountains, that she starts to feel her stomach swirling, either from car sickness or the perpetual fear that comes with knowing she's going to be climbing a mountain on stairs that are as old as her grandparents or perhaps a third factor that she's not quite willing to admit to, she doesn't know. </p><p>Maybe it's all three. </p><p>Who knows?</p><p>Certainly not MJ.</p><p>"This is probably a little late to be asking this, and please don't take this as me wanting out—"</p><p>Gwen's voice is miraculously heard. </p><p>"—But isn't this hike… like… Illegal...?" Her question trails off into a skeptical, yet good-natured laugh. </p><p>"Kinda sounds like you're trying to get out of this," Miles pokes. </p><p>"Shut up!" She retorts, scrunching her face at him. </p><p>Betty turns around in her seat, ready with her answer. "Technically, yes. Climbing the stairs is illegal. But we're taking the legal, no-stairs route."</p><p>"Lame!" Felicia pipes up from the back seat. </p><p>It shouldn't give MJ as much satisfaction as it does, seeing that Peter doesn't smile at that like everyone else does. </p><p>"But if we see the stairs…" Flash goes on, not-at-all as innocent as he's trying to appear. "And we happen to get on them… that's fine, right?"</p><p>"If you want a thousand dollar fine, then yeah," Liz replies over her shoulder, laughing. "Go for it."</p><p>There's a part of Michelle that's relieved to not be climbing the nightmare staircase of doom. But then, the other part cruelly reminds her that she's still scaling a mountain, even if the method is a little less terrifying. </p><p>Really, she can't win here.</p><p>She spends the rest of the drive staring out the window, nervously picking at the skin on the pad of her thumb as she watches the trees pass. Her stomach becomes more and more unsettled the closer they get, jumping with her heart into her throat when Ned takes the exit and starts on the winding backroads. A kind security guard stops them as they reach one of the gates, giving them directions on where to park. </p><p>The van stops at a small parking lot. Michelle tries to hide the way her knees nearly give out as she steps out onto the gravel, muscles tightening as she forces herself to stay upright, watching as Liz and Betty direct everyone in getting the supplies out of the trunk. </p><p>Michelle's hit with a spell of dizziness as she looks up at the looming mountain, the one they're climbing. </p><p>She hates it. </p><p>Almost as much as she hates the way she can feel Peter's fleeting glances. </p><p>Letting out a slow, shaky breath, she forces a tight-lipped smile as Ned hands her backpack over, struggling for a moment to throw it over her shoulders. She waits as the others start walking ahead, their conversations falling on deaf ears as they pass. </p><p>Except for one person who stays behind with her. </p><p>"Are you…" Peter starts hesitantly, and it takes everything in her not to throw her damn backpack at him for opening his mouth. </p><p>"Are you good? Doing this?" His voice sounds strained, forced, as if speaking to her is more complicated than climbing this literal mountain. </p><p>His meaning isn't lost on her. Like on the plane over, he'd shown the slightest bit of concern for her particular phobia of heights. And right now, if she were to look at him, she just knows she'd be able to see that same worry etched into his expression. </p><p>She doesn't look at him, ignoring the way her heart starts hammering as the trees around them grow dense, the solid, flat ground sloping upward. </p><p>"I'm fine," she lies, focusing all of her energy on not tripping over the roughening terrain. </p><p>Peter doesn't say anything else as they catch up to the group, though he keeps a short distance between them, either to her side or behind her. </p><p>It makes the lump already in her throat that much harder to swallow.</p><p>He does this throughout the first part of the hike, much to Michelle's inner torment. She's already stressed about falling off a damn cliff; she doesn't need to be worrying about her ex trying to start shit with her. As the forest around them grows, he holds back one too many branches for her, flinching every time she so much as stumbles on gravel or a slick spot of mud. </p><p>This last time—after a particularly rough spot of the trail where she almost eats shit—he looks back for a little too long, and she's tempted to give him a nice view of her middle finger in response as she rebalances herself. </p><p>Flash's YouTube channel seems to have actually taken off, given how he thanks the FlashMob for two-million subscribers, announcing the good news to his phone on a selfie-stick as he's filming the group—sweating and trudging through the thick grass and mud. Though, Michelle seems to be the only one bothered by this, not entirely keen on having her looming panic attack filmed and posted for all the internet to see. </p><p>He seems to acknowledge this, though, without her saying anything, and keeps his filming up at the front of the group. </p><p><em> Maybe he has grown, </em> she thinks. </p><p>It's not fair, how naturally some of the group members navigate these treacherous hills. Felicia is almost an expert, jumping from boulder to boulder precariously, in a way that makes Betty scold her every time. Miles and Gwen seem to be having a competition of who can get up hills the fastest without running. Liz, naturally perfect at everything, seems to have no trouble at all when met with stubborn roots and vines on the path. </p><p>And she knows—just <em> knows </em>—that Peter's good at this, but either he doesn't seem to be in a show-off mood, or he's just as scared as she is. He still appears to be dead set on staying on the ground, not jumping around with Felicia or dumbly speed-walking up a sharp incline. </p><p>It's when the trees open into a clearing, and Michelle can see just how far they've come up the side of the mountain, that she worries she's truly going to lose whatever's left in her stomach. Her gaze snaps to the front, and she takes a deep, steady breath as the group marches on. If she weren't so deathly terrified—and they aren't even that high up <em> yet </em>—she'd be able to take in the beauty of O'ahu around her. </p><p>After another half-hour, they reach a stopping point—sort of. They come to a ledge at the top of the foothill, the valley hundreds of feet below them. The trail follows the steep ankle-breaking slope downward, continuing across the way to another peak. To the side, at the base of the mountain, there's a slab of concrete, enclosed in a rusted metal fence. </p><p>And on that slab is a set of stairs—stairs that look more like a <em> fucking ladder </em> thanks to how steep the incline is, stairs that under no circumstances should they go on unless they want anything between a thousand dollar fine and death—leading all the way up the side and along the top, at least as far as she can actually see. </p><p>But she doesn't have to see Felicia's face to know that she's grinning like a mischievous little kid, clapping her hands together with glee. </p><p>"We gotta," she insists, looking around at the group.</p><p>Flash steps up, staring at the metal staircase with a smile. "We gotta," he repeats. </p><p>Miles, Gwen, and Liz all exchange looks before nodding. </p><p>"But—" Peter blurts out hurriedly, briefly glancing at Michelle. He lets out a nervous, single laugh before he swallows. "Isn't it like… Illegal?" He looks to Ned and Betty. "You said it was illegal, right?" </p><p>For the first time all week, MJ feels the tiniest bit grateful that Peter's on this trip. </p><p>Betty opens her mouth to respond before she's cut off. </p><p>"Oh, come on, Parker!" Flash teases playfully. "Where's your sense of adventure, man? When are we gonna get the chance to do this again?"</p><p>Michelle can't help but think it's also because Flash thinks an illegal hike will get more views than a legal one. Though if he's dumb enough to post the former, that remains to be seen—apparently people do it all the time, he insists. </p><p>Ned, however, seems to catch on to Peter's meaning. "Well, I mean—"</p><p>"It's kind of romantic when you think about it…" Liz chimes in, shrugging. When she's met with blank stares from the betrothed, the corners of her lips quirk upward into a smile. "Doing something crazy together before you get married."</p><p>Michelle's eyes are probably screaming louder than she ever could.</p><p>"Aren't you supposed to be in law school?" Miles asks with a sly grin. </p><p>"Not this week, I'm not."</p><p>To Michelle's horror, Ned and Betty seem almost sold on the idea as everyone starts walking to the rickety staircase that doesn't look like it's been inspected since World War II, until Betty looks over and she catches her eye insistently. </p><p>Betty stays back, her content smile replaced with concern. "Do you wanna wait here… or something? Or maybe, Ned and I can just take the long way with you?" </p><p>There's a pinch of guilt in the swirling pit in her stomach, and she vehemently shakes her head. "No… No." She pauses, letting out a harsh, resigned breath. "No. I'm good. I can go." </p><p>Somehow, Betty's worry seems to grow. "Are you sure?"</p><p>MJ almost laughs, a strangled sound, as she waves her friend off. "Oh yeah."</p><p>She's lying, of course. She's dying inside—and it's painfully obvious that Betty knows this, even though she seems to relent, not wanting to argue. The two of them stay behind her as they follow the rest of the group to the stairs. </p><p>And, as it's been the whole hike, Peter's annoyingly right there, staying only a few steps in front of her.</p><p>Michelle can feel her legs aching as she approaches the first grated metal steps, close enough now to see the splotchy patterns in the rust; the stomach-churning groan of the metal as Miles and Gwen are the first to start the climb doesn't seem to bother anyone else. Thankfully, everyone seems to be using their brains on this part of the hike, taking one overly cautious step at a time, making sure to not be too clustered together. </p><p>Peter sets foot on the first step with relative ease, though he throws a quick look over his shoulder at MJ as she inches closer. </p><p>He takes another step, and another, and the thought crosses her mind that she's never seen him move this slowly. It's something that might make her smile under normal circumstances—hell, even under these weird, post-break-up circumstances. But now, as her knees almost buckle underneath her when she climbs that first step and her hands grip the rusted handrail, she can't think of anything else but how they probably call it the Stairway to Heaven because you might <em> die. </em> </p><p>Questions of where the real after-life is are forgotten, for the time being, Michelle can safely say that, objectively, this is the worst part of the trip, and she regrets everything. </p><p>Taking a too-shallow breath, steeling herself, she takes another step, trying desperately to keep her heart rate low as each step lets out an agonizing creak. She faintly hears Ned and Betty following behind her, neither of them seeming the least bit concerned at this old-ass staircase's structural integrity, carrying on their conversation as if nothing's wrong with the noises the metal's making. </p><p>Somehow, someway, she's able to motivate herself to make it to the top of the small hill, though her heart sinks into her stomach when she sees the long stretch of a run-down, narrow ramp that looks like it's one landslide away from tumbling into the valley below. She freezes, hands gripping the decaying railing on both sides, her gaze burning into the back of Peter's head in an effort to not look at anything else. </p><p>Her next few steps are filled with fearful caution; dramatically slow, and she tenses her muscles to keep them from shaking. That proves to be useless because with a rough gust of wind, the ramp sways underneath her, and she finds herself scrambling to keep her footing. </p><p>At her sharp movement, Peter's head whips around, ready for what—she doesn't know. </p><p>Really, she knows that this isn't something to be annoyed by; he's thinking about someone other than himself on this trip. And yet, she can't help how her chest flares and her jaw clenches every time he so much as glances at her with even a hint of concern. </p><p>But, the annoyance she feels at that moment is dramatically overshadowed by and laughably insignificant compared to the neverending fear of the <em> slight possibility  </em>of falling what's probably a thousand-or-so-feet to her death. </p><p>It's not important right now. </p><p>Peter moves on after another few seconds or so, still keeping his head turned ever-so-slightly in her direction as he follows the group. </p><p>Betty and Ned are chatting about something behind her, though she can feel their near-paternal eyes on her back as she continues on the ramp. She dares a glance over her shoulder, feeling a prickling behind her eyes and a hollowness in her gut seeing that she's barely gone twenty feet. Not even a fourth of the way there, if she had to guess. </p><p>The ache in her knees and calves is almost too much to ignore, her heart climbing higher and higher into her throat, her lungs unable to hold any air. Then, another, stronger gust rips into the ramp, causing it to sway again. The movement makes her step less-calculated, and her foot slips out from under her and under the railing. </p><p>Almost as soon as the scream leaves her mouth, she feels a pair of arms—unmistakably Peter's—wrap around her waist, pulling her impossibly close. He'd spun around faster than she could fall, catching her instantly. She's disoriented for more than a second—only due to the sudden fall and genuinely nothing to do with the feeling of being pressed so tightly to her ex's hard chest, the sensation of his hands, one splayed between her shoulder blades, the other firm against her lower back—and she's just vaguely able to make out the sound of her friends worried yells. </p><p>Then, in the next second, as she realizes what's just happened and the position she's in, she scrambles away, struggling for a steady breath. She doesn't cry, though she feels the stinging in her eyes as she folds her arms around herself. </p><p>She hears Betty and Ned asking over and over if she's okay—at least, she thinks she does; everything's kind of fuzzy at the moment. A hand gently rests on her shoulder, and it takes her a second to realize that it's Betty's, and that she's talking, her expression wrought with concern as she starts leading her back to the hill they came from. Ned says something too, his voice muffled under the roaring in MJ's ears. </p><p>And it's then, stepping back onto the semi-solid landing just before the ramp, that Michelle seems to fully come back to her own body, her knees feeling weak again, much to her frustration. </p><p>"I'm—" She swallows, carefully brushing Betty's hand from her shoulder. "I'm fine. I'm okay." It's mostly said to soothe herself, she finds, as she repeats the two phrases again. "Just—uh…" She lets out a shaky breath, and suddenly, the worried looks on her friend's faces cause a pang of overwhelming guilt to hit her like a truck. Though they would no doubt deny this, and as stupid as it is to even <em> think </em> it, she can't help but feel as though she's ruined their afternoon with her accident.</p><p>Her gaze casts downward, her hands wringing together. "I think I'll just wait here, or… or something." It's not a good idea, the farthest thing from it. But she doesn't care. </p><p>What she really wants to do is go back to Waikiki.</p><p>Silence, and flat, firm ground.</p><p>"Are you sure?" Ned asks, brows pinched. His expression relaxes as he gets an idea. "Come on, I'll drive you back to the condo."</p><p>Almost instantly, MJ has to shoot him down. "No… No. You and Betty stay here. Go on the hike. I'll be okay. I can like… draw nature shit… or something, until you get back."</p><p>"MJ—"</p><p>Betty tries to argue, though she's cut off by Peter, who MJ hadn't even realized was there in the first place. </p><p>"I can take you," he says softly, something in his tone that Michelle can't quite place. "...Getting kinda tired anyway," he lies with a shrug. "I can just come back and pick you guys up after."</p><p>Michelle sees right through it. He lives for this kind of shit. There's no way he's tired already. </p><p>She thinks about declining, she really does, because as much as she wants to leave, the idea of spending just thirty minutes alone in that van with Peter is almost enough to make her change her mind. </p><p><em> Almost. </em> </p><p>Not quite.</p><p>She figures she can just… pretend to fall asleep to avoid any form of conversation or confrontation with him if he tries. Who knows? With the jolt of adrenaline she just got, she might not even need to pretend. </p><p>"Sure," is all she says in reply, her voice sounding uncharacteristically small to her own ears. She clears her throat. </p><p>Ned and Betty simultaneously turn their gazes to her, their surprise evident, but they keep their mouths shut, neither one of them wanting to risk making this worse. But it's when they turn back to the ramp that MJ truly realizes what she's getting into. </p><p>The descent to the foothills below isn't any better than the <em> ascent </em>. In fact, in some ways, it's almost worse. Now, she can see where she'd fall, going down. The weakening ache is still in her shins, radiating to her knees and back, and she keeps all of her focus on keeping her legs from giving out. Peter stays in front of her, glancing over his shoulder with every few steps. </p><p>When they reach the original slab of concrete, Michelle thinks she might cry from happiness. </p><p>(She doesn't.)</p><p>The walk back to the van feels like the longest thirty minutes of her life. Peter's surprisingly quiet the entire time, the only sounds between them being the crunch of their shoes on the trail. From the corner of her eye, she can see him opening and closing his mouth every so often, inhaling sharply as if he's about to speak, to say something. </p><p>But he always seems to decide against it. </p><p>And when they get back to the parking lot and to the van, the air still feels heavy, pushing down on her shoulders so hard that she has to remind herself how to breathe. He doesn't open the door for her, promptly going to the driver's side and climbing in; and it's not that she's bothered by that or anything. Near-death experience—though she's not even sure she can call it that, maybe she's a touch dramatic—or not, she's completely capable. </p><p>And in the passenger seat, as the engine comes to life, she can feel Peter's fleeting, yet still burning glances. </p><p>She doesn't know if he's worried.</p><p>She doesn't know if he's still mad from last night. </p><p>But frankly, as she's already nodding off before the van's even reached the main road…</p><p>She doesn't care. </p><p>--</p><p>
  <em> The last thing she'd ever want to do is hurt him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> MJ loves Peter more than anything in the entire world. He's her best friend. He's the one person she'd ever in a million years consider going to Disneyland for. The one person who can get her to put down a book—even if only for a second. Countless nights were spent, even before they'd started dating, where she'd sit up with him, patching him up after his patrols. There were countless times where he'd surprise her with her favorite tea and a soft blanket after a particularly draining exam. He was there for every all-nighter, happy to just sit and be with her in a comforting silence as she worked.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Peter understood her in a way she never knew anyone could.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And even if she doesn't believe in the whole idea of fate, she sometimes wonders if they were meant for each other.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Then why, after all of that, did she say yes? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The ring on her finger mocks her, asking that very question.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> If she loved him, then why did she agree to marry him? Why had she said yes to something she'd always been so blatantly against?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She can't bring herself to look down at her hand, her heart clenching every time she so much as catches a glimpse of the smoky rock shining under the light. It feels heavy on her finger, too heavy, and she swears that the band will leave some kind of burn mark when she takes it off.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It's just always there.  </em>
</p><p><em> And then if that wasn't already enough, there's the immense guilt every time she sees Peter—which is all the time, obviously. It's maddening. Never before has she ever wanted him to  </em> <strong> <em> not </em> </strong> <em>  smile at her, because now she can't stand to look at him when he does.  </em></p><p>
  <em> Why did she say yes when she didn't mean it? </em>
</p><p><em> At first, she'd denied it had ever happened. He hadn't actually proposed. Peter knows better than that, knows  </em> <strong> <em> her </em> </strong> <em>  better than that. Sure, he can be a bit of a dumbass sometimes—the smartest one in the world—but he couldn't have been that dense, could he? He had to have common sense when it came to big things like this, right? Even if they've never technically talked about it? </em></p><p>
  <em> And that's when the anger had set in.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sure, they might have never had that particular conversation, the only one even remotely close being the one at Pepper and Tony's wedding all those years ago, so he didn't know where she stood on the issue, but still. It shouldn't matter. A proposal out of the blue, no warning whatsoever, is something that's only seen in unrealistic romcoms. You don't just spring that on the other person—even if marriage is an option for them—without talking about it first and expect everything to be okay.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Of course, she loves Peter.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But she can't help but feel like she had to say yes, like she'd been backed into a matrimonial corner with nowhere else to go.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That saying no wasn't an option as he'd looked up at her with those big, dumb, puppy-eyes.  </em>
</p><p><em> And even if that hadn't been Peter's intention—let it be clear: intended or not, it's  </em> <strong> <em> not what you do </em> </strong> <em> —it was still infuriating.  </em></p><p>
  <em> Her days are spent wallowing in a confusing pit of both nauseating guilt and angry resentment. There are moments where she feels like things might be okay, like she's freaking out over nothing. She loves Peter. He loves her. But then every slight movement of her hand instantly draws her attention to the weight on her ring finger, and it's almost impossible to look away, her stomach churning as it sparkles. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It's when Peter catches her staring at it one day as she's sitting on the couch—beaming as he bends to plant a loving kiss on her temple, something that would typically make her warm—that she makes the decision to just… not wear it as much.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She still puts it on, of course. Only… she'll take it off at night. Maybe she won't wear it to work or class. She takes it off to paint, to draw—it tends to get in the way, to be distracting. She doesn't wear it out to dinner with their friends, not wanting to "show-off." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Their friends. They haven't told their friends, obviously.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And she doesn't want to announce it—not just yet—she tells Peter. After all, Ned and Betty have only just gotten engaged, and it'd be rude of them to steamroll over that with the news of their own.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Peter seems to understand.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Usually, she's good at remembering to put the ring on around him, but she eventually starts to forget, wearing it less and less. It makes a home in the bottom of her t-shirt drawer, hidden under a pile of dark cotton.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But, as she fears, he takes notice one night as they're cuddled on the couch, his arm around her as she nestles into his side. "Why don't you ever wear your ring?" He asks, attempting to sound casual, though the pout is audible. He's holding her left hand with his own, his thumb smoothing over her fingers.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> MJ remains as calm as she can, though she knows he can hear her heart starting to race.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "What?" She pretends she hadn't heard him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Your ring," he says again. "Why don't you wear it?"  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Oh—" Her head jerks back as her lips quirk into a relaxed frown. "Uh…" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She thinks she's doing a stellar job.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Do you not like it?" Peter asks, the look in his eyes making her heart crack. "Because… We can get you a new one, or something. Or if you don't want a ring, we could like… Do something else." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "No," MJ says, suddenly feeling the need to dry her hands. She lets out a laugh, one that sounds like it's trying a little too hard to appear nonchalant. "I just… I'm not used to wearing rings. That's all." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Peter's lips quirk into a half-smile.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "What?" She asks defensively, her face warming.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He shakes his head, letting out a lighthearted scoff. "Your pinky ring you wear all the time?"  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "That's different." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Different." Peter nods skeptically, lips pressing together.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "It's a different finger."  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And she's surprised—genuinely surprised—when Peter laughs at that. A sly, knowing grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. "You don't like it!" He accuses playfully.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She wishes she could play along, more than anything she does.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But she has a hard time finding any humor in this. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Her own laugh is shaky. "No, Pete… That's not it." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Damn, I really thought I had it…"  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "You did! It's great!" Michelle promises, a little too readily. A beat passes as she sits back, no longer pressed against his side, though his arm stays over her shoulder. "I love it." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Honestly, Ned's acting might have been more convincing.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There's something in how Peter looks at her, something that makes her stomach twist with regret.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "You do?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Why did she say yes? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "I do." </em>
</p><p>--</p><p>Of all of the sunsets MJ's seen in her life, the ones in O'ahu are pretty top tier. Second only to the ones seen from her apartment rooftop—for several reasons, <em> not </em> one in particular. </p><p>She's had all afternoon and early evening to collect herself from the brand-new Incident™ on the <em> Stairway to Heaven </em>. It still makes her knees feel all wobbly when she thinks about it, but she can at least get through a second without feeling like her lungs are about to give out. But then, the moments during the day where she doesn't think about the close-call, she's thinking about Peter catching her. </p><p>Sure, she might not have been seriously hurt, or in any real danger—given that she'd only slipped—and as much as she hates him, she can't help but feel the tiniest bit grateful he'd been there to keep her from eating it on the hard metal ramp. </p><p>Though, glad as she is not to have been hurt, the feeling's immediately overshadowed by her annoyance. For one, she's still pissed at him for what he'd said the night before. Pissed that she saw him naked after three months of withdrawal. Pissed that he touched her today, her body warming at the memory as soon as she'd calmed down—even if he did technically save her life, she still hates it. </p><p>The places his hands had been on her back still burn. </p><p>And right now, it doesn't help that she and Super Hero are on this damn boat—the sun already starting to set—waiting for Ned and Betty to show up before the cruise begins. They'd told them to stay in line. </p><p><em> 'We're on our way!'  </em>They said. </p><p><em> 'We'll be there soon!' </em> They said. </p><p><em> 'Five minutes away!'  </em>They said fifteen minutes ago. </p><p>Michelle's starting to lose hope, believing that her friends have well and truly abandoned her to an evening with her ex when their phones buzz with a group text. </p><p><strong> <em> Ned: </em> </strong> <em>  guys, we are so sorry, but there's shit going on with Betty's parents and it looks like we're not gonna make it to the cruise </em></p><p>And the hope is gone with them. </p><p>She doesn't dare look up at Peter across from her. Placing her phone face down on the table, she wonders if it's too late to—literally—jump ship. </p><p>The <em> 'last call for boarding!' </em> and the boat starting to float on tells her that yes, it is too late. </p><p>Peter clears his throat, a sound that's more grating than it should be. Before he can speak, their phones buzz again, adding that final nail to the coffin. </p><p><strong> <em> Betty: </em> </strong> <em>  SO sorry! Have fun without us! :) </em></p><p>It's the smiley-face that gets MJ. </p><p>At first, she'd been concerned for Betty and her parents—she could understand family stuff suddenly coming up—but then, with that last message, she can't help but theorize that this was all bullshit. Made-up. It wasn't some accident. </p><p>Those punks did this on purpose, and she swears at that moment she'll have her revenge. </p><p>Have <em> fun. </em> </p><p>Under the awning, the live band starts to play a lively tune, the smooth tenor smiling behind the microphone, setting the relaxed atmosphere as the chatting couples find their seats and tables. MJ's gaze is trained on her phone flat on the table, her hands toying with the napkin she'd placed in her lap, doing everything she can to not look up. Her vision shakes from how mad she is, how annoyed she is that she has to be here. </p><p>She can see Peter's knee bouncing through the glass top, and as always, she can feel it every time he looks at her. The silence between them brings a chill with it, even with the warmth the sun gives, causing a shiver to ripple through her. </p><p>A server comes by, taking their drink and dinner orders. </p><p>MJ orders a glass of merlot—if she's going to get through this evening, she might as well have a little help—Peter quietly ordering his glass of pinot grigio. </p><p>And they're alone again. </p><p>Michelle knows why Ned and Betty did this. She knows <em> exactly </em> why. They seem to have this wild, grand idea that talking shit out will fix everything, that if the two of them just take the time to have a single conversation then—like magic—everything will be perfect again. </p><p>But Michelle doesn't want to talk to him. </p><p>Not after what he said last night. </p><p>Not after what he said the night they ended things. </p><p>There's nothing else she needs to say to him. </p><p>And it's not so simple. </p><p>There's a lot there. Too much. And beneath her anger, there's that annoying pain that's always twisting and yanking at her chest, one that she can't ignore, no matter how hard she tries. </p><p>"MJ—"</p><p>Peter starts to speak, but she immediately stops him. </p><p>"No," she says simply, holding her hand up. She doesn't want to do this right now. </p><p>Ever. </p><p>His eyes are still on her when she chances a look upward, his jaw set as he watches her from across the table. </p><p>Their wine arrives on a silver tray, the two of them offering forced, polite smiles as the server leaves with a knowing, teasing look.</p><p>MJ hopes that Peter's dropped this sudden desire to talk to her, that he's forgotten it in the five seconds since the server interrupted them. </p><p>But, of course, this isn't a day for things to go how she wants them to. </p><p>"MJ." He blurts it out again, having waited until she took a sip of her wine to speak. </p><p>She doesn't have time to cut him off. </p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>Really, she's almost mad he'd waited for her mouth to take a drink because she almost chokes on her merlot. </p><p>He stumbles over his words, running a hand through his hair. For once, he doesn't look at her. "About… the whole… <em> thing </em>… last night…"</p><p>
  <em> Ah, yes. The classic Parker Eloquence™. </em>
</p><p>Michelle sits back in her chair, eyeing him carefully. "Okay," she says simply, unable to stop herself. </p><p>It's bullshit, and he knows it. </p><p>"Okay?" He asks incredulously. "What do you—What?"</p><p>Her laugh is humorless, borderlining dangerously on sad. "Come on, Peter. Let's not… do this." She shakes her head, hiding her emotions behind another sip. At his confused, irritated expression, she looks up at him, her eyes narrowing, her smile not quite reaching them. "You're not sorry."</p><p>"I—"</p><p>"Please." Again, she stops him, though her voice wavers at the end. "Just… don't."</p><p>She doesn't want to face how much his words hurt. She doesn't want to hear him sputter out some lame apology when they both know he meant every word. There was too much venom in the way he'd drunkenly spoke for him not to. </p><p>And as the saying goes, a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts. </p><p>If that means sitting in silence until the damn cruise is over, then so be it. </p><p>She pointedly ignores the prickling in her chest when Peter sits back in his chair, sniffing harshly before taking a long sip of his wine, looking out at the water. Tearing her gaze away, she goes back to her own red, listening as the band transitions into their third song. </p><p>Dinner arrives soon after, their server still not quite picking up on the we' re-not-a-married-couple vibe. He's too cheery—MJ knows it's a part of his job, but still—as he sets down their food, making a comment about how beautiful the night is. She can't really blame him though, given that the people attending this sunset cruise aren't usually exes who hate each other's guts. </p><p>They're left in silence once again, and MJ absently picks at the grilled chicken on her plate with a fork. She forces herself to take small, hesitant bites, but she can't seem to take more than a few. </p><p>It's delicious, of course, it is. </p><p>But she's not hungry. Not in the slightest. </p><p>When she dares a glance up at Peter, he's doing the same—pushing around the food on his plate, his fork hovering just above his pasta. </p><p>He doesn't seem to be able to take it anymore, though. </p><p>"Are you okay?" He asks, cracking the silence between them. "From… earlier?"</p><p>Heat flashes in her chest at his attempt at conversation, though she doesn't show it on her face. Her stomach jumps at the memory. "I'm fine."</p><p>His reply is simple.</p><p>"Good."</p><p>They go back to numbly picking at their food. </p><p>As hard as she tries to shove the thoughts down, her mind replays the afternoon on a cruel, endless loop. The feeling of her heart racing in her chest is still fresh, and she's reminded once again that Peter's the one who caught her and kept her from getting hurt. She can't deny that, as much as she hates it. </p><p>"Thank you," she finally says after another stretched-out silence. </p><p>Peter does a subtle double-take as he glances up at her.</p><p>"For… catching me…" she somehow manages as she turns her gaze back down to the food on her plate, unable to look at him. </p><p>"Oh—" he nods, swallowing. "Yeah. Of course."</p><p>Her lips press together as she gives a stiff nod of her own. </p><p>The sun has almost disappeared entirely over the horizon, the pinks and oranges having melted into shades of blue. She can almost see the dusting of stars scattered across the night sky as the band transitions to a slower piece, the tenor's smooth voice as he sings a longing melody tugging at her heart. Some of the couples around them get up from their seats, taking each other's hands as they move to the dancefloor. </p><p>"Do you wanna dance?" </p><p>Peter's question causes her heart to betray her. She turns to look at him. "No."</p><p>His eyes don't leave hers as a sad smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "We either talk or we dance."</p><p>She considers his ultimatum, watching him as his expression starts to fade. It's dangerous, she knows this, but there's something pulling at her chest, warmth blooming as she takes another slow sip of her wine, and it makes her answer without really taking a moment to think. </p><p>"Fine."</p><p>His hands are shoved into his pockets as they walk to the center, her own hands struggling to find something to do, fiddling as she waits. She hates how much she can feel her heart beating in her throat, how she has to fight to keep herself steady, how inexplicably nervous she starts to feel as he reaches out to her, putting a hand on her waist and taking ones of hers in the other. The warm touch sends a trail of goosebumps over her skin, her arm instinctively wrapping around his shoulder. He pulls her close, though he makes sure to keep a sliver of space between them—one that still feels miles long. </p><p>
  <em> May be surrounded by a million people, I... </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Still feel all alone </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I just wanna go home.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Oh, I miss you, you know... </em>
</p><p>It's impossible to meet his eyes as they start to sway to the gentle music; she settles on watching their feet, the other couples around them, and how they melt into each other. It's awkward, undeniably so, as she and Peter move together, neither of them truly able to relax into one another as the other couples do. But she can't deny the familiarity that's there, the memories that all come flooding back as he holds her. </p><p>
  <em> And I've been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Each one a line or two. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I'm fine, baby. How are you? </em>
</p><p>It's funny, she thinks, how this might be the first time they've ever slow danced together, even while dating, even with awkward school dances. </p><p>
  <em> I would send them, but I know that it's just not enough. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> My words were cold and flat. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And you deserve more than that. </em>
</p><p>But it's also scary—even with all of the tension between them—when it hits her just how nice it feels, how quickly the world around them seems to disappear as the music swells. Like magnets, their bodies are drawn closer together, the space between them nearly gone. Her heart and lungs ache as she feels his hand wrap fully around her waist, feeling the overwhelming urge to rest her head on his shoulder.</p><p>
  <em> Let me go home. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I'm just too far from where you are. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I wanna come home. </em>
</p><p>How she can go so long without the feeling of being in his arms—to the point where it's almost entirely forgotten—and still have it come back so quickly, as if it had never left is beyond her. There's still that anger bubbling inside her. There's still a fuck ton of baggage here that she can't ignore. When she thinks of what he'd said… </p><p>The heartbreak is still too fresh. </p><p>But maybe, even if just for this one moment, she can pretend that things are different. </p><p>That they're back where they were three months ago. Before it had all gone to shit.</p><p>
  <em> And I feel just like I'm living someone else's life. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It's like I just stepped outside, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When everything was going right… </em>
</p><p>She feels him rest his chin on her shoulder, somehow pulling her closer, though his hold remains gentle as he lets out a deep breath. And against everything in her telling her not to, she holds him, too—pretending even more. </p><p>
  <em> Let me go home. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I've had my run. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Baby, I'm done. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I gotta go home. </em>
</p><p>The singer's voice is lost on them, the band fading out as they continue to sway to the slow, soulful beat. MJ can't hear anything else but the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears, and for a moment, she closes her eyes, breathing in his faint cologne. It feels like there's a brick in her chest, sharp and cracked, as the song slows even more to an end, and she's brought back to reality.</p><p>Peter's hand lingers on her arm as he pulls away, something sad in his eyes that she can't quite place. They stand there on the dancefloor, their eyes connecting for the briefest of moments before they both tear themselves away. The captain speaks over the intercom, telling the passengers that they're heading back to the shore, but it falls on deaf ears. </p><p>Wordlessly, they find their seats again. </p><p>But still, Michelle feels as if she's in that pretend world, every step feeling as if the ground will be ripped out from under her. And the feeling never leaves, even as they sit across from each other, sipping the rest of their wines in silence as if the past few minutes had never happened. </p><p>Everything's brushed aside, forgotten. </p><p>And they don't say anything else the rest of the cruise. They decline dessert when their server returns with the offer, their simultaneous <em> no thank you's </em> clipped and tired. Michelle can't help but glance up at Peter every so often, though she's unsure why. She keeps them subtle, behind her glass as she takes soft drinks of the merlot. </p><p>And she knows for a fact that he looks at her, too. </p><p>It's about another half-hour of this crushing silence between them when the boat docks, the sky above them completely dark, the pretend world gone. The quiet follows them as they step onto the pier, all throughout the twenty-minute walk back to the condo, as Michelle's punching in the key code to unlock the door. </p><p>She stands in the middle of the living room, shoes kicked haphazardly into the corner of the room, feeling the awkwardness creeping up her spine as she gets ready to call it a night. She starts for the bedroom door when Peter speaks for the first time since the boat. </p><p>"I <em> am </em> sorry," he says, almost too quiet for her to hear. </p><p>And just like that, the annoyance and bitterness take the forefront. "Peter—"</p><p>"No." He's the one who cuts her off this time, his jaw clenching. "Please, just… hear me out. You—you said on the boat… that I wasn't sorry. But I am." His shoulders fall as he lets out a broken sigh. "I am. Okay? I—I shouldn't have said... what I said last night."</p><p>"No, you shouldn't have."</p><p>"I didn't..." He trails off, seemingly unable to find the words. He scoffs to himself. "It's—ugh… I'm—I'm sorry." </p><p>"Stop—" She groans, rolling her eyes. "Just stop, Peter. Stop apologizing just to make yourself feel better, alright? It's not good for either of us."</p><p>"That's not what's going on here," he says, exasperated. "If you'd just listen to me for one second—"</p><p>"What, so you can tell me you're sorry again?"</p><p>"I <em> am </em> sorry!" He practically shouts, before pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn't—I didn't mean…" He flinches. "I'm sorry," he says for the millionth time as he takes a cautious step forward. </p><p>Her arms fold across her chest. "Okay," she says after a beat. "You're sorry. Fine." She laughs, a humorless sound that breaks her own heart. "But don't say that you didn't mean it when both of us know that's a fucking lie. We don't have time for that shit, Peter." </p><p>"Oh, what, so I'm just supposed to say that I<em>  did </em> mean it?" He snaps. "That it was you being too afraid of commitment that ruined our relationship? Are you running out of reasons to hate me? Is that it?" </p><p>"Oh, as if I need another one. You really think it's my fault—"</p><p>"I didn't say that!—"</p><p>"—When you're the one who sprang a proposal on me out of nowhere!"</p><p>It's so sudden, the realization of how close they are, so much so that it almost takes the wind out of her. She can feel the angry heat radiating from his chest, the way his eyes are burning into her. She can see the way his jaw tightens, finding her own gaze drawn to the movement. </p><p>"What else do you want me to say then? What else—"</p><p>She can't take it anymore. </p><p>Cutting off whatever bullshit he was about to say, she pulls him into a searing kiss. One of her hands grips the back of his neck, the other grabbing a fistful of his shirt, tugging him closer. </p><p>And as much as she's burning with frustration and anger, there's that vague sense of cool relief that pools within her. </p><p>Peter's eyes fly open as her lips smash against his, but it doesn't take long before his mouth starts to move against hers, matching her energy, his hands roaming her body, desperately grabbing onto any part of her he can get a hold of. It's messy, frantic—three months of bitter resentment being it—barely any time passing before they're tearing and clawing at each other. </p><p>It feels like a bad idea. </p><p>The worst idea.</p><p>But when he takes her bottom lip between his teeth, she doesn't care.</p><p>This is fine. They're adults. They can handle this. </p><p>Michelle runs a hand through his hair, her touch soft before she tilts his head with a harsh tug, sighing against him as the kiss deepens. A breathy whine gets caught in her throat when he retaliates in his own way, taking a handful of her ass as leverage and roughly pressing her against him. The corner of his lips twitch against hers, and a memory flashes across her mind, of Peter, always grinning smugly—into the kiss, into her neck, into her thighs—when he'd get that noise out of her.</p><p>It would always make her smile.</p><p>But she shakes the memory away, somehow clinging more desperately to Peter as he starts moving them to the bedroom. </p><p>His eyes are dark when she finally pulls back, his gaze hardened as he catches his breath. The moment lasts too long for Michelle's liking—giving them too much time to <em> think </em>  and not  <em> do </em>—and in the next instant, she's yanking at the hem of his shirt. He takes the hint—though not without a cocky smile that she wants to slap right off his face—pulling the dark fabric over his head and throwing it roughly behind him.</p><p><em> God, it's been a long time, </em> she thinks, not even subtle with the way her eyes rake down his chest and over his absurdly defined abs. But she doesn't give him a chance to gloat, reeling him in by the hips into another heated kiss, exhaling sharply, shakily as his tongue swipes against her lips, tasting the pinot grigio still on his mouth. </p><p>When he breaks the kiss, his breathing is heavy, his face tinted red as he takes the tie of her wrap dress—<em> thank you, past-MJ from three hours ago </em>—between his fingers and giving a sharp tug before bringing his mouth back to hers. </p><p>And still, he takes his time—much to her annoyance—as he pushes the flowy dress off her shoulders, his touch against her bare skin leaving a wave of gooseflesh. His hand lowers, gentle for the first time as it cups her lace-covered breast, and she sucks in a breath as his thumb swipes across her nipple. </p><p>It's too slow. </p><p>This isn't what's happening here.</p><p>Michelle—almost shaking with frustration—shrugs off the rest of her dress, haphazardly brushing it aside with her foot. Peter pulls back, watching as she reaches behind her back and unclasps her bralette, tossing it aside in one swift motion. His gaze shamelessly dips lower, causing her face to burn, as he reaches out to touch her soft skin. </p><p>She almost ignores the alarm bells in the back of her mind. </p><p>This is supposed to be quick and dirty. </p><p>Nothing else. </p><p>He forgets what he's doing when her hands fly out, his jaw clenching as she claws at his pants, fumbling with the button for a second too long before he takes over. Michelle doesn't wait until he's finished kicking the pants under the bed, roughly pulling him in for another kiss, her body screaming in relief at the feeling of his skin finally on hers.</p><p>Without warning, he lifts her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips; she bites back a moan, her thighs tensing when his hardness brushes against her clothed center. It sets her skin alight, and her grip around him tightens. She doesn't know when or how it happens, but soon, she's pushed into the mattress, Peter's mouth hot on her neck, biting and sucking as she can't help but writhe underneath him. It's dizzying, the way he's pressing himself against her, the way he groans throatily in her ear when she bucks her hips up to meet his. Her hands find their way to his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin, gasping when he nips at a particular spot on her neck. </p><p>And still, he's taking too long. </p><p>He reads her mind when she pushes him away, hooking his thumbs underneath the lace trim of her underwear and yanking them down her legs. He throws them somewhere over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving her, now completely bare in front of him. The room feels too hot, the air sticking to her skin as his gaze travels the length of her, drinking her in. She squirms under his stare—feeling the evening dangerously tipping into forbidden territory. </p><p>The tugging in her gut is only made worse when he starts to unconsciously palm himself as he leans toward her. Her hand clutches at the back of his neck again, tugging him closer, her lips against his urgent and unforgiving. He takes his hand off himself, her breath catching when he slides it up the inside of her thigh, his touch pressing, and firm. </p><p>He doesn't wait, doesn't tease her like he always would, making her tell him exactly what she wanted, close to begging for more. Now, he's less patient as he breaks the kiss, bringing his fingers to the apex between her thighs and roughly swiping his thumb over the bundle of nerves there. And then again. And again, before he takes two of his fingers and dips them into her entrance, his breath hitching as he collects her wetness and swirls it messily over her clit.</p><p>His pace as he works her over is quick, matching the rhythm of their labored breaths, Michelle squeezing her eyes shut, focusing on the intoxicating weight of his touch. And then, when he's burying two fingers into her cunt—curling them upward in a way so distantly familiar that it makes her heart lurch in her chest as she chokes on a wet gasp, her hips bucking into his hand—she feels that same dangerous teetering.</p><p>Too slow.</p><p>She says the first thing that comes to mind, because of course, she came prepared.</p><p>"Condoms are in the drawer," she says, her voice breathy and raw as she pushes his hand away, ignoring the way her body protests and her face burns seeing his fingers glistening, wet with <em>her. </em></p><p>Not a new sight by any means, but one that still causes her mouth to go dry.</p><p>She did not bring protection specifically for this, though—to clear that up. <em> This </em>wasn't in her plan. Being safe on an island full of hot, single strangers that she may or may not hook-up with was her top priority.</p><p>That's it.</p><p>He sits back on his feet—a heat pooling in her stomach as she subconsciously wets her lips at the outline of his prominent erection in his boxer briefs—the corner of his mouth almost quirking into a gloating smirk as he eyes her carefully. "You brought condoms?"</p><p>"Yeah…" Her knees rock back and forth as she waits, her eyes narrowing into a glare when he doesn't look away, that stupid cocky expression still there. Heat flares in her chest, feeling it rush to her already burning face. "Oh, get over yourself. It's in case I decided I wanted a quick fuck."</p><p>"Yeah," he replies blankly, the unspoken <em>that's what this is, though, isn't it? </em> hanging between them. </p><p>The air still crackles, her heart hammering in her throat, as he reaches over her to rifle through the bedside table—not according to plan at all; she thought for sure he'd get off the bed to do this—quickly finding the foil wrapper. It would almost make her laugh, watching as he practically rips his boxer briefs off and hurriedly rolls the condom on, his jaw flexed as he pumps himself a few times. Almost, like he would when they were—</p><p>The memory shatters as Peter pushes her legs apart, and she angles her hips up as he settles between them. And then it's brought back as he swipes a finger over her cunt again before wrapping his hand around his cock, coating himself in her wetness. Her gasp is sharp, her breath shuddering as he pushes into her with no resistance, and she revels in the feeling of him stretching her, fitting inside her so warm, so well. </p><p>Peter buries his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he starts to fuck into her, quickly, urgently, one hand white-knuckling the padded headboard, the other gripping her hip, his fingers digging into her smooth skin. Her eyes roll back as he hikes her leg up, deepening the angle of his thrusts as he pulls away from her neck. </p><p>But then, she missteps, making the mistake of opening her eyes, vision blurry from how tightly they'd been closed. Peter's rhythm falters as their eyes meet, his grip on the headboard weakening ever so slightly. </p><p>It's too much, the way his face and chest are flushed so beautifully. How his already damp curls stick to his forehead. The seams of her already threadbare heart tear even more. </p><p>And Peter seems to feel it, too. </p><p>"Get up," he says, catching his breath, groaning as he slides out of her. "Hands and knees?"</p><p>It's definitely more of a question than any kind of demand, and it fills her with a confusing sensation of desire mixed with something else, she doesn't know. But he's a genius, of course. If they don't have to look at each other, they can ignore everything else. They can just use the other for that one quick fuck they need. </p><p>It's simple. </p><p>He helps her sit up on her knees, spinning her around, guiding her forward. The sound of him rustling behind her reignites that heat in her belly as she braces herself on the bed, and she squirms in anticipation, feeling the warmth radiating from his body. Her moan catches as he slides his hands over the curve of her ass, squeezing and kneading, and back up to clutch greedily at her hips before he pushes himself back into her. </p><p>This time, his thrusts are relentless, the new pace more frantic and full of the need for release, as if they're running out of time. MJ curses, her voice hiccuping into a whine as she slips forward onto her forearms. The new angle causes her muscles to seize around his cock as he snaps his hips into hers, disappearing inside her as she rocks back into him. </p><p>It doesn't take long for her arms give out, her limbs shaking as she buries her face in the pillow, smothering her loud moans as he leans forward, his hand reaching around to rub her clit, matching his movements with the rhythm of his hard thrusts. The familiar coil in her gets tighter and tighter, the heat pooling in her as she gets <em> so close </em>  to that point. She wants to urge him on, tell him faster, harder, yes  <em> right there, fuck.  </em></p><p>She moans without abandon as she feels herself fluttering around him, teetering right on that edge. The pressure and speed on her clit increases, his grip on her bound to leave fingerprint bruises, and with a final swipe, she cries out, her toes curling as he fucks her through her orgasm.</p><p>Peter's noisy as he comes, chasing after her, his thrusts messy and stuttering as he releases. The moment he slips out of her, she collapses onto the bed, and he follows close behind, the two of them struggling to catch a solid breath. </p><p>Her heart jumps into her throat when she turns her head to look at him next to her, chest warming impossibly at his disheveled, soft appearance. Then, there's an ache, one she's come to know well, when he meets her gaze. It sticks between her ribs, digging into her lungs. And at that moment, that gutwrenching moment, she knows that she was wrong. This wasn't some quick and dirty fuck. This wasn't the painless hook-up she'd so desperately told herself it was. </p><p>Their eyes stay connected, and he reaches out to brush a damp curl from her forehead, his touch gentle. There's a sadness in his eyes that she knows too well.</p><p>Everything in her screams at her to move away, to look away, but she can't. Against it all, she finds herself leaning forward, her gaze dipping down to his lips. </p><p>But he moves away before she can kiss him again. </p><p>He pretends not to notice, muttering something about taking care of the condom as he gets up from the bed.</p><p>And she's left with an empty, sinking feeling, her chest caving in on itself. </p><p>He comes back soon after, having found and put on his underwear again, his hands wringing together as he steps out of the bathroom. </p><p>A silence—that same <em> fucking silence </em>—is back. </p><p>Peter scratches the back of his neck, smoothing his hair down as he glances around the room, anywhere but at her. </p><p>"I, uh—" He blows out a shaky breath, his voice almost as weak. He still doesn't look at her. "I'm gonna—" He throws a thumb over his shoulder. "Head to bed. Uh… G'night."</p><p>And he doesn't wait for a response before he's slipping through the sliding door, the <em> click </em> as it shuts echoing in the room, taunting.</p><p>It wouldn't be a surprise if MJ's heart fell out of her chest. She feels cold, heavy, as if she'd been thrown into ice water. There's a stinging behind her eyes, her vision clouding as she gets up, gathering discarded clothes as she makes for the bathroom. </p><p>Maybe she got exactly what she wanted. </p><p>A quick, meaningless hook-up. </p><p>There's a stubborn lump in her throat that she can't swallow, and it hits her at that moment, as she leans back against the bathroom door, squeezing her eyes shut. </p><p>She's never wanted home so badly.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well??? What do we think??? how are we feeling?? Thoughts? Predictions?? </p><p>This was my second time writing smut and it was a journey WOO BUT WE DID IT</p><p>Thanks for reading!! Follow me on tumblr @spiderman-homecomeme and on twitter @smhomecomeme!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Pre-Marital Ex</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*the boys are back in town plays*</p><p>HEY Y'ALL! I have returned! A month later!! Apologies for the late update, but things just got a little hectic! Thank you all for sticking with me and this story! ALSO a big thank you to everyone reading, leaving comments, and leaving kudos!! I appreciate your love and support so so so much!!</p><p>So...... without further ado...... </p><p>LET'S TALK ABOUT EX, BABY</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>It starts with a crumpled up t-shirt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He finds it looking for his favorite hoodie, positive that it's somewhere in the mess that is MJ's side of the dresser they share when it falls out of the Stark Industries shirt she'd stolen from him years ago—" It's soft, and it smells like you"—a lump forming in his throat at the sharp </span>
  </em>
  <span>clink</span>
  <em>
    <span> of the ring hitting the bottom of the drawer. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There's a prickling behind his eyes that he tries to blink away, a sinking feeling in his gut, and his jaw sets as he gingerly picks up the engagement ring. All he can do is stare at the little piece of jewelry in his hands, his teeth digging into his lips when he presses his mouth into a thin line. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Releasing a shaky breath, his hand closes tightly around the ring, ignoring the feeling of the diamond biting his fingers and palm. And he tries to reason; this isn't a big deal. Nothing's wrong here. MJ's already explained herself. She loves him. She wants to marry him. There's no need for his lungs and heart to feel like his ribs are slowly suffocating them. This dread that he feels isn't necessary. But then...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A part of him, as tiny and insignificant as it may have seemed at first, is unable to shake the feeling he gets from finding the ring so carelessly buried under layers of sleep shirts. It presses heavily on his mind that he might not be overreacting. And even worse, that he's not confused in the slightest, instead feeling as if his deepest fears and suspicions that he'd been shoving down for days have finally begun to poke through the surface. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And then, as his feet carry him out of the bedroom and into the living room, his fiancée quietly reading on the couch, the voice in his head scolds him. If he hadn't been so blinded by the delirious happiness that had slammed into him the second she said yes, then he would have been able to see this coming. That this crack in his chest would be nonexistent. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But then, the other part of him says that it's always been there; he's just been too deep in denial to accept it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He stops at the end of the couch, his hands now shoved in his pockets as he looks down at his feet, suddenly finding it impossible to breathe. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>MJ almost immediately notices his hovering. "Pete?" She asks, looking up at him as she places the book in her lap, her brows pinched together. "You good?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's first thought is of Michelle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wakes up with a rock in his chest and a lump in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's heavy, dragging his heart down to his stomach as he blinks awake—though, as has been the case with most nights this week, he's unsure if he's actually slept or not. The backs of his eyes burn, and he feels like he's swallowed barbed wire as he coughs into his arm. He doesn't bother looking at the time, the faint blue of the sky outside telling him that it's too early for anyone to be awake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries not to let his mind wonder if MJ is.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>MJ.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Just the thought of her has the memories from last night rushing back, the feel of her soft skin underneath his greedy hands, her lips hungry against his neck. The thought of how warm she'd been around him, the feeling old and new at the same time, knocks the air from his lungs like a swift kick to the chest. What was he thinking? No, he wasn't thinking. That's the problem. He was too busy being in the moment, getting lost in finally having her in his arms again, too caught up in tasting the earthy, bitter merlot on her lips, that even the vaguest idea of consequence flew out the window. All that mattered in those moments was </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Them. Together after three long months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, he guesses, it was just all about the both of them getting that release all along. Nothing more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he couldn't even look at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even if his stomach twists and his chest tightens at the memory of how beautiful she'd looked with the sun setting behind her, how at home he felt holding her close on the dance floor; her soft, shaky sighs as his hands traveled her body, to how she'd made it more than clear what it was to her, he wasn't naïve enough to think that one night together would fix everything. That all the shit from the past three months would be forgotten with a quick fuck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, it's not that simple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter knows this. He knew going into that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet he can't help that small part of him that wishes it was. Even with all the resentment, with all of his anger towards her, there's always been that twinge of hope that maybe they can work things out, that stinging reminder that no matter what happens between them, they still care about each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the past two days have taught him anything, it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Especially after their drunken argument the other night. Embarrassment makes his face hot as he remembers his slurred, biting accusations that had erupted out of him like mentos in diet coke; how her eyes had flashed, her face tightening in anger as she yanked him aside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, there's a tugging at his gut when he thinks about how she'd stumbled on the Staircase from Hell the next day; how all of his fear and worry for her and her well-being—both physical and mental—had made him hyper-aware of every step she took, ready to catch her before she'd hit the cold metal ramp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And after that, something had snapped within him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's confusing, this mixture of heartache, longing, and bitterness. Nothing can change how hurt he still is; how she'd just brushed aside the ring like it was nothing, how she'd so unceremoniously shut him out from her life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How she'd said yes, and then immediately taken it back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that's why he had pulled back last night, why he had to tear himself away when she'd leaned to kiss him. He wanted to, </span>
  <em>
    <span>God he wanted to</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But as indescribable the feeling was to be with her again, as much as he wanted to keep going, to fall into her arms over and over again… he couldn't, knowing how she felt. He couldn't fall back into old habits. The realization of what they'd just done hit him like a train.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, seeing how her expression had fallen ever so slightly, the hurt flash across her features, he'd been hit with a stinging sense of regret; that maybe he was wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubs the sleep from his sore eyes, sniffing as he sits up on the couch, giving up on getting any more sleep. The condo is silent, save for the gentle hum of the air conditioning, the floors cool beneath his feet as he walks into the kitchenette and clicks on the Keurig, mugs clanking and clinking together as he grabs one from the cabinet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, so maybe there's a chance that he was wrong, that his perception of last night might be a little bit skewed. Maybe taking into account how MJ really feels, critically thinking instead of assuming the worst of her, is important. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bitter voice in his head says that she never did for him, so why bother?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter shakes his head to quiet said voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, at this point, his own feelings are confusing to him. Does he actually think last night was a mistake? Well, no. Not a mistake. Maybe something they should never have done in the first place, perhaps their judgment was misguided, yes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which, he thinks, is probably the textbook definition of a mistake…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn't necessarily call it </span>
  <em>
    <span>that. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But why not? Why can't he accept this sinking regret for what it is? Why is he so dead set on fighting it? On defending himself? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't get to answer any of those questions before the sliding door to the bedroom opens, Michelle stepping out silently from behind it, and Peter immediately feels his blood turn cold and hot all at once. She freezes when she sees him, her mouth hanging open for longer than a second before she clamps it shut. She blinks rapidly before training her gaze on the floor as she walks to the fridge, her hands wringing together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lump in Peter's throat only grows, stubborn as he tries to swallow it down. "Morning," he finally manages, his voice hoarse as it comes out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Morning." Her reply is barely above a whisper, scratchy, as she grabs a cup of yogurt from the top shelf. Even as she steps around him to pull a spoon from the silverware drawer, she doesn't look at him. He can see the tension in her shoulders and her hands as she rips the top off of the yogurt, a slight shake to her movements as she eats, reduced to a bundle of frayed nerves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it's in the heavy silence that falls between them that Peter starts to lose his own resolve. Seeing her now, after everything from last night, is harder than he could have ever imagined. As much as he tries to keep his own gaze on the coffee dripping from the Keurig into his cup, his eyes seem to move on their own accord, looking up and taking her in when she's turned away. It's the game they've been playing since this whole vacation started. Fleeting glances, some cold, some bearing a startlingly familiar warmth that makes his mouth dry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Coffee cups knock together as MJ goes to grab one from the top cabinet. Peter ignores the way the clinking sound cuts through the air. She pauses in front of him, mouth opening and closing as she gestures to the Keurig behind him. "Uh… Can I?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter feels his face flush, not realizing his coffee's done. "Yeah! Yeah."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steps out of her way—overly cautious in keeping his distance, giving her more than enough room as he grabs the creamer from the fridge. And maybe he pours a little more than he usually would, too focused on the sound of MJ's heartbeat—somehow louder than the whirring of the Keurig—to notice that his cup of coffee could pass for milk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This silence is worse than the ones before. So much more so. At least before, there wasn't this overwhelming sense of not knowing what the fuck is going on anymore. It was always just fueled with hatred and bitter resentment. Nothing else. No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> has a whole new element to it. One that Peter absolutely cannot stand. There's a tension that causes a prickling at the back of his neck, that makes him jump at every sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It puts him in fight or flight mode. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it looks like MJ's in the same boat, though she seems to choose flight over anything else, gathering up her coffee and breakfast and disappearing again into the bedroom without another word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The feeling doesn't go with her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It stays.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Yeah, uh…" Peter breathes, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He glances down at the offending piece of jewelry in his hand before holding it out to her. "Found this."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Michelle's eyes widen for less than a second, her gaze darting back and forth between his face and the shimmering ring. Her laugh is strained, nervous as she gingerly takes it from him. "Oh. Thanks—thanks, Pete."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Thought you'd wanna keep it somewhere safer than the bottom of your t-shirt drawer." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The guise of a helpful suggestion doesn't seem to work all that well, judging by the way MJ's mouth twitches into a wary smile. But she doesn't call him out on it. She nods, something sounding like it's supposed to be an amused huff bubbling up out of her. "Yeah. Probably. Uh, thanks."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And Peter tries, really tries, to hold himself back as he turns around to face away from her. Swan-diving headfirst into conclusions is the last thing he should be doing. He knows this. He knows that he should think rationally first, bring this up at a time when he's not already emotionally compromised. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And yet, there's nothing he can do to keep the next thing he says from coming out. "So, you like it?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The smile her lips curve into is unconvincing. "I love it."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Are you sure you love it?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you sure you love me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Yes. I'm sure," she lies without missing a beat. She watches him a moment, brows furrowing, before looking down at her hands, slowly putting the ring on her finger. "Where's this coming from, Pete?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The muscles in his face tighten when he hears the thinly-veiled anxiety in her tone, like she's been caught. He sucks in a breath, folding his arms across his chest with a stiff shrug. "Just… You know. You never wear it, so I figured you didn't like it. Seriously, if you don't, we can exchange it for another one. It's fine."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Oh, my God. Peter—" She scoffs, defensive. "It's not that."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Then what is it?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The air in the room nearly crushes his shoulders, something tugging at his heart with the way MJ looks up at him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I already told you," her voice is small as it comes out. "I'm just… not used to wearing rings."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Come on, MJ," he pleads, roughly carding a hand through his hair, letting out an exasperated sigh. "We both know that's not true." The sharp ache in his chest returns when she looks down at her hands again, biting at her lip. "What is it? Is it—"</span>
  </em>
  
  <em>
    <span>He lets out a humorless laugh.</span>
  </em>
  
  <em>
    <span>"Is it me?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She opens her mouth to speak, but at first, nothing comes out. "Peter—"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But her silence, that brief, fleeting hesitation says enough already. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Is it me?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's all the answer he needs.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter doesn't tell Ned what happened at first. Instead, he sticks with some half-assed, vague story about how awkward it was, how they'd barely said a word to each other, how things are still very much the same. And it's not a total lie. At least that's how Peter justifies it. After this morning, it's been made perfectly clear that some things are just never meant to change. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned, however—the best friend he is—doesn't seem to be buying any of it. Even if he doesn't directly call Peter out on his bullshit—at least that's </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be happy about—it's more than obvious by the way Ned won't stop asking about it, even hours later into the mid-morning as they're waiting outside of the airport for May and Happy's plane to land. His questions are worded in a way that makes Peter feel like he's walking on eggshells, that he needs to choose his answers carefully, not to say too much unless he wants all of those bad boys to crack under his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you guys talk at all?" Ned presses, clearly trying his best to hide the exhaustion in his tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's fingers tap erratically against his knee. He shakes his head, biting at the inside of his cheek before he answers. "Nope. Not really."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, not entirely a lie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A half-lie at the most.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What… What did you guys even do?" Ned seems more confused than ever, having trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that the two of them would just sit there in silence the whole time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memory of MJ writhing underneath Peter's hands flashes across his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nothing." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned blinks, still unconvinced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know what to tell you, man." Peter shrugs noncommittally. "Sorry you and Betty's plan didn't work out?" His own question comes out more bitterly than he'd intended, his breathy chuckle at the end tense and short. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned sighs, almost exasperated. "Okay, I'm sorry we bailed on you guys last minute, but… come on, man. How else were we supposed to get you guys to talk to each other? And actually talk, like human adults. You won't do it now, and you're literally in the same condo."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter has to look away, training his gaze on the pick-up entrance. "I know. It's just…" He huffs out a sad laugh. "I think we're just gonna have to keep ignoring each other."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, that'd be a great plan if you could actually manage to do it—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My boys!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And suddenly, the voice of Peter's savior—Aunt May—can be heard hollering from the airport exit, and she's there, nearly closing the door on Happy in her excitement. She laughs, stopping to help him as he scrambles with his two suitcases, before continuing her near sprint to Peter and Ned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's eyes meet Ned's for a moment, silently begging him to not say anything else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned frowns, but he immediately understands, dropping the subject entirely as they rise from their bench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>May pulls them both into a hug, beaming to Ned about how excited she is for the wedding. For once, the air feels light, cheerful. Aunt May sort of brings that with her wherever she goes, Peter reckons. Happy even offers a firm hug to both of them, stiff and awkward as he is when he pats them each on the back. He smiles when May sneakily nudges him with her elbow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had turned out that the "Summer Fling" all those years ago turned into an "Autumn Fling." And then, a "Winter Fling." And… then a "Spring Fling." Really, they'd almost been in as much denial as—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter immediately cuts that thought off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The point is that May and Happy were always crazy about each other, though May was probably the last one to realize it, even after they'd been together—technically—for months. Still, Happy was more than, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy,</span>
  </em>
  <span> to wait for her, always supportive, always patient. Of course, at first, Peter had a rough time seeing his aunt with someone that wasn't Ben. Sure, it had been a few years since his death, and he didn't want May to be forever alone, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>he genuinely liked Happy… but her being with someone else took some getting used to. It's hard for anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was when he saw how big her smiles were, how loud her laughs were when she was with Happy, that he finally started to come around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After calling an Uber, the four of them wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ned, honey, when are your parents getting here?" May asks, setting her bags down next to the bench. Her voice takes on a teasing tone as her mouth curves into an easy grin. "Mariela and I still need to brainstorm Ned-stories to tell at the rehearsal dinner." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This afternoon." Ned laughs. "No rehearsal dinner, though. Sorry, May."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, damn," May frowns, brow furrowing in mock disappointment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I mean, there's a dinner tonight. Before the wedding. So I guess you could say it is…?" Ned shrugs. "We're not really rehearsing anything." He points a finger at her. "No speeches, though." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>May's smile is warm. "Not promising anything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though Ned had silently agreed to keep quiet, Peter can feel his eyes on him the entire fifteen-minute drive to the hotel, and he knows that his friend is doing everything in his power not to ask any more questions in front of Happy and May. The effort is appreciated, but Peter knows that the very second his aunt and her boyfriend—okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> is definitely going to take some getting used to—are gone, the interrogation will be back on. Ned will be relentless in getting his answers. Peter knows that his friend </span>
  <em>
    <span>will not stop</span>
  </em>
  <span> until he finds out what the hell happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And frankly, Peter severely doubts his own ability in not spilling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clearly, the only thing to do is to avoid being alone with Ned at all costs. If he can't get him by himself, he can't ask questions. It's simple. This proves to be endlessly frustrating for Ned, it seems. After helping Happy and May to their hotel room, Ned makes for the door, asking Peter if he's coming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter stares blankly at him, eyes wide. "No. I—I think I'll stay here. Hang out with May and Happy for a bit."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Said aunt and aunt's boyfriend—</span>
  <em>
    <span>God, still weird</span>
  </em>
  <span>—don't notice Ned's tired glare, both of them too busy unpacking to pay any attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Peter, maybe we should let 'em rest. You know? They've had a long flight," Ned lets out a faint chuckle, glancing between his friend and the others in the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nonsense." May waves them off as she unzips the middle compartment of her suitcase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Happy mirrors her dismissal. "He's fine. We slept most of the way here anyway."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh," Ned says, lips twisting as he nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter would laugh right in Ned's face, maybe even stick his tongue out—like a little kid that's just gotten their way after being tattled on—if he could do it without immediately being marked as an even bigger target for suspicion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, instead, he settles for a casual shrug, a pressed smile, and a nice, "See ya later, man."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned's mouth sets into a stubborn line, his eyes narrowing in a way that's vaguely threatening, saying that </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, the interrogation is still happening</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Be ready</span>
  </em>
  <span>. "See you guys," he says as he heads for the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>May must notice the way Peter visibly relaxes as soon as Ned's gone, because almost immediately, her eyes are on Peter, and that same feeling that he's about to get the third degree comes right back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just can't win. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's going on there?" May asks, quirking a brow in careful curiosity. "Is he mad at you or something?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. Not really," Peter says, laughing quietly despite himself. "It's just something…" He pauses, not knowing how to answer her question without </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually answering her question</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He settles on keeping it as annoyingly vague as possible. "Something dumb." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Something dumb you did?" Happy asks, half-joking, half-serious, earning himself a gentle smack on the arm from May. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No!" Peter responds a little too quickly. He rushes to explain himself. "I mean, no," he repeats, calmly this time. "I—uh… Don't… Don't worry about it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is it about MJ?" Happy asks, clearly not knowing the details of the sensitive subject. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>May gives him another smack, accompanying it with a hissing </span>
  <em>
    <span>shhhh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she asks the exact same question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is it about MJ?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it's at that moment that Peter wishes he'd gone with Ned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stunned silence is apparently all the confirmation that they need. But why he's surprised at all, though, he doesn't know. It's a true mystery because, in all his life, he's never been able to get anything past Aunt May. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem always is that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> to tell her about things in his life. Especially after she found out about the whole Spider-Man thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They've always been close, close enough that he's felt he can tell her anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this? This is painful, the fact that he feels like he can't talk about this </span>
  <em>
    <span>one thing. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," he lies, not for the first time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>May and Happy look at him, doubt etched in their expressions as they throw side-eye glances to each other. It's a wonder that neither of them says anything given how obvious it is that they don't believe him. Maybe it's the way his voice comes out, thin, crackling at the end. Or it could be the way his jaw clenches, the distance in his eyes when he answers, how his fingers twist together unconsciously. No, they seem to know better than to push too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But still, even if they don't press for an honest answer, their worried silence right after is almost as bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Peter, are you okay?" May asks anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he knew it had almost been too easy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter huffs out a shaky laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, May. I'm… I'm fine." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, she tilts her head as she fixes him with a knowing stare, her hand placed on her hip. "Peter."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has to bite the inside of his lip, tearing his gaze away from her and gluing it to a spot on the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what does he say? There's no chance she'll keep buying the </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm fine</span>
  </em>
  <span> bullshit. Because he's </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> fine. None of this is fine. He can't even make himself believe that, and he's had three months to figure it out. Then again, that's not all that long of a time. It was three months spent trying to stop thinking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>her,</span>
  </em>
  <span> to forget everything that happened, only he couldn't. He'd failed. Epically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's throat only constricts tighter the longer his silence goes on, the more he tries to swallow that damn lump. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's just a lot harder than I thought it'd be," he finally says, his voice wavering slightly as he tries to hide it behind a sad huff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, Peter…" May moves away from her suitcase and to his side almost instantly, pulling him into a hug as Happy continues unpacking silently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter doesn't cry, unable to find it in himself to do so. But he lets May hold him, knowing that even if it doesn't get rid of the ache in his chest, it probably makes her feel better about the whole thing. And it's funny—even if he doesn't laugh; he almost feels like a kid in high school again, after one of his major fuck-ups. Especially so when May pulls back to fix a particularly unruly strand of his hair, her brows pinched together. Her smile is sad, but with a faint glimmer of hope underneath that tugs at Peter's heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does his best to ignore it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't even imagine," May sighs with a final pat to his arm before returning to her suitcase, unzipping the top pocket. Her lips twist in thought, her expression hesitant. "Have you guys had a chance to talk at all?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh—" Peter clears his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. "No. Not—not really."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have you tried?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter bristles at the question, but he doesn't quite know how to answer, unsure of what's technically true and what isn't. "I mean, yeah. Of course, we've—I've tried." His arms fold across his chest, and it suddenly becomes difficult to look his aunt in the eye. "I've tried." Half-true. "But… MJ just… won't even give me a chance." He realizes what he's said, rushing to correct himself. "But it's not like I want her to, alright? She's made it perfectly clear how she feels about me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have you tried telling her how you feel?" May asks carefully. "About her?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's face scrunches in confusion, his blood growing hot. "What do you mean how I feel about her?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>May and Happy's wary glances passed between them are impossible to miss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you saying?" Something wells up in Peter's chest, burning. "That—that I'm… still in love with her or something?" He wants to laugh. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She didn't say </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>…" Happy says under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You did. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"All I'm saying…" May pauses, wincing, trying to find the right words. "Is that there's clearly still a lot of things you two need to work out… And you won't get anywhere if you're not honest with each other." Her explanation is vague, but not enough for Peter to miss what she's really saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would argue that there's absolutely nothing that they need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>work out</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that they've already said everything that needs to be said. They're past the point of being able to fix this with empty apologies; everything's already been broken beyond repair after last night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can't. The words don't come out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he bites his tongue, lips pressing together as he gives a weak nod. "Yeah. You're right."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And May seems to drop the subject, albeit a little unwillingly, given that she's not totally convinced Peter's taken what's she said to heart. Happy breaks the silence in the room, veering the conversation towards the dinner tonight, the wedding tomorrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Peter can't hear anything but the buzzing ring in his ears, his own words replaying over and over in his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...Still in love with her...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Peter, it's not you." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Michelle's quiet voice has an edge to it, one that she can't seem to hide and one that he can't quite place. Peter's chest tightens at how she's looking at him, his vision clouding when the corners of her lips twitch downward. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And still, he can't make himself believe her. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Then what is it?" He demands. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She swallows, shaking her head. "It's nothing," she insists half-heartedly, pushing past him and walking away to their bedroom.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter groans in frustration, roughly running a hand through his hair as he follows her. "God, MJ. No, it's not 'nothing'!" Something's wrong and—and…" He lets out a sad huff of laughter, his face burning. He stops right in front of her, standing in her way, and for the first time all evening, taking her hands in his. "Please, Em. Just tell me what's wrong. Please."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Michelle doesn't look at him, pressing her lips together in an attempt to keep them from trembling. She lets out a shaky sigh, and something tugs at Peter's gut when her hands squeeze his. "I</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>" Her eyes are welling with unshed tears, "God—I… Peter—" She sucks in a breath. "I love you so much. So, so much. You're my best friend, and I—I never wanted to hurt you, but—"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> "MJ—"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His heart drops. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I don't want to marry you." Her eyes widen in a panic seeing Peter's fallen expression, and she rushes to continue. "I mean—it's not you. I mean, I don't want to get married, ever."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But that doesn't help, and Peter can only stare at her, positive that this must be some kind of nightmare that he hasn't woken up from yet. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He's unable to control the shake in his voice as he drops her hands. "What?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It turns out that Happy and May did need that post-flight rest. Peter doesn't overstay his welcome, glad to be given the opportunity to leave in the first place instead of having to feel his aunt's worried stare. He takes the short walk back to the condo, though if he purposefully takes a wrong turn or two as he gets closer and closer, that's nobody's business but his own. It's unclear whether or not he actually wants to go back at this point. If they aren't all hanging out on the beach, odds are, MJ will still be in theirs, and Ned will be hanging out with Betty in his. Either way, Peter's in danger of running into one of them, risking a messy confrontation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hopes to God that he's just assuming the worst. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But maybe he should have listened to those thoughts instead of being so eager to get back to the condo, because the second he opens the door, he's smacked in the face with the sight of Michelle in the kitchen, making another smoothie. He knew that he'd let his guard down too much when he hadn't seen Ned on his way up the stairs—or that Ned hadn't seen</span>
  <em>
    <span> him</span>
  </em>
  <span>—that he was pushing his luck assuming he'd be safe once he got inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>MJ stills, her eyes darting up to meet his for a split-second before shooting back down to the blender. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey." The word comes out of Peter's mouth before he can think to stop it. He winces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her stare stays glued to the task at hand, scooping frozen fruit and ice into the pitcher. But still, she offers something. "Hi."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like this morning, it's as if all of the oxygen's been sucked out of the room, Peter finding it increasingly difficult to catch a good enough breath. The silence between them feels like quicksand, leaving him wondering if this is how the rest of the trip will be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's lips curve into a tense, thin-lipped smile as he goes to sit on the couch. His hands fumble in his lap, playing with the loose thread at the hem of his t-shirt. He has no idea what to do with himself with MJ in the room. He can't just leave now as soon as he's gotten back, right? That'd be weird. He has to wait at least… twenty minutes, or something. That way, it looks like it's on purpose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whirring of the blender startles him out of his thoughts, and he dares a single glance up at Michelle, swearing he felt her eyes on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she's just watching the pink mixture swirling in front of her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His foot taps erratically against the hardwood floors, his fingers drumming on his knees when May's advice starts echoing in his brain. He tries to will it to go away, to shut it out, but it's impossible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, May had been right to some degree, but she only knew so much. She only knew the surface level of things; Peter and MJ were engaged, MJ said she didn't want to marry him, and now they're not. He'd only ever alluded to the other things that were said, never once letting his aunt in on every detail. He'd given her the ring after that night, unable to keep it himself without feeling like his chest was going to cave in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One thing, though, is that May never once felt any anger towards MJ. At first, Peter hadn't been sure how he felt about that, given that his heart had been shattered like a cheap wine glass. But he'd always known that May was just like that; a naturally forgiving person. Always trying to see the best in people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, after all of that, it's hard for Peter to accept her advice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now, as Michelle shuts off the blender, pouring herself a glass, her eyes meet his for the first time since he'd come in, and Peter feels a rush of something he can't put a finger on; bravery? Stupidity?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"MJ—" Peter starts, but his voice immediately stops. He clears his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michelle gives him a slow glance in acknowledgment, though he can see the way she stiffens. Like she knows exactly what he's about to do. If he could see her eyes, he wonders if they'd be begging him to shut the hell up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I uh—" He sits up on the edge of the couch, ready to run away should it come down to that. An excruciating beat passes before he can bring himself to speak again. "Could we talk?" His throat goes dry when her eyes dart to meet his. "About… last night."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sees her bite at the inside of her lip as she stirs her smoothie in her cup before placing it down on the counter, the soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the glass on granite cutting through the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, she doesn't say anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter fills the quiet for them. "I mean, obviously, neither of us… planned that." He takes a breath, still finding it hard to catch a decent one as his heart and lungs climb into his throat. And again, it dawns on him—mid-thought—that he has no idea what he even wants to say, where the hell he's going with this. His own thoughts are too loud, still cluttered haphazardly in his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For some reason, that doesn't stop him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And um—" Another pause. "I dunno. I feel like we got a little… carried away, maybe? We weren't—" He clears his throat. "I guess, uh—I wasn't thinking clearly… and I just wanted to know… How..." He suddenly finds that he can't speak, the words refusing to come out, and he stands there, looking like an idiot. "I mean, I don't know what I'm saying, but I think we should..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, where is he going with this?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What should they do?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I get it." MJ's voice startles him, and he does a double-take.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah," she replies, leaning back against the counter. "You're right... We got carried away." There's a finality to her tone that he's not sure how it makes him feel. "It wasn't supposed to happen." Something that sounds like a sad huff of laughter comes out of her. "I think… at this point, we just need to write it off for what it was."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh yeah, I agree—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"—Just a dumb mistake." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter feels as if he's been punched in the gut.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, he wouldn't call it a mistake. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But she would. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The regret in her expression is what really hurts; it's the thing that separates the fist colliding with his stomach from the sledgehammer smashing into him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter can't help but look down at his hands, frustration welling up within him at the all too familiar burning in his eyes. He blinks, nodding as his jaw sets. "Yeah. Yeah. You're right. Just a—just a dumb mistake." The words taste bitter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MJ gives a single nod in return. She lingers for more than a moment, hesitating before picking up her glass again. "I'm gonna… go sit outside."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she leaves through the front door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>"What are you talking about?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter's head is spinning, unable to comprehend what MJ's just said as his heart threatens to fall right out of his chest. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her lips press together as she forces out a breath. It's as if the words physically pain her to say. "I don't—I don't want to get married." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And still, he wonders if any of this is real. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"What—um…" He shakes his head, swallowing. "Where is this coming from?" He doesn't understand. "You… You said yes…"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Michelle squeezes her eyes shut. "I know—I know I did… But this is just… how I've felt. For a long time now. Since before we started dating."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"What? And you didn't think to say something when I asked?" With each word, his tone turns more accusatory, white-hot anger twisting his stomach. "Why didn't you—why didn't you say anything? Why'd you say yes?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her arms fold across her chest, bristling. "What else was I supposed to say?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You could've said no, for one!" </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"What? And you would've just accepted that?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Better than saying yes and taking it back."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Peter—"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"And why'd you say yes, then?" Peter's laugh is weak and bitter. "Why?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Because—God, I don't know! You just kinda… sprang that on me—"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"—Oh, so it's my fault?—"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"—and I didn't know what to say—"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"—I can't fucking believe this—"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"—and you made me feel like I had to!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A dead silence drops as they both stare at each other. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter's breathing is heavy, his brow furrowed, wondering how he could have been so stupid. He's been beaten down by all sorts of bad guys, bruised and battered to the point where he can't take a step without crying out in pain. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But this? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This heartache is something new. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He'd honestly take the bad guys over this any day.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Well," he croaks. "I won't make you." He starts for the door. "You don't have to marry me. Promise." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>MJ quickly follows behind him. "Peter—"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Seriously, it's fine. It's whatever." He spits. "I don't want to force you into anything. Sorry. My bad. Thought we were in love or whatever."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"God, Peter! How are you not getting this? How is this my fault?" MJ snaps, exasperated, nearing her tipping point. "You didn't stop to think for one second whether or not I even wanted to get married. You were too busy thinking about yourself and what you wanted." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Oh, so I was supposed to automatically know how you felt?" Peter scoffs, spinning around on his heel. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Peter—" MJ groans. "Asking someone to marry you—a huge commitment we're talking about here—isn't something you just fucking spring on someone. We talk about it. Together. This isn't some stupid rom-com where you go buy a ring, ask without even mentioning it first, and it's all fine." For the first time since she's started speaking, her voice lowers. "If you had actually talked to me about it before—"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You know what, you're right." Peter's eyes flash. With a huff, he starts for the door again. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Pete—" MJ tries, but he cuts her off. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"What's the point now? You know?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"The point of what?" Michelle glares at him, eyes challenging. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He stops, his grip on the doorknob turning his knuckles white. "You and me." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her eyes widen, her mouth parting in surprise. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His laugh is bitter, humorless as he shakes his head, more at himself for being so stupid and blind than anything else. "I should've talked to you about it before. You're absolutely right." He opens the door, ignoring the way his heart's trying to claw its way out of him, and there's nothing he can do to stop the next thing he says from spilling out. "Would've saved a lot of time for both of us."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And he expects her to say something. Anything. Though, he's not sure what. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But Michelle only watches in fuming silence. She doesn't go after him as she yanks the ring off her finger and tosses it onto the counter. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And he doesn't look back as he slams the door, reaching up to roughly wipe his eyes. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe it's the fact that she hadn't tried to stop him again, that she'd just let him walk out, or that she'd so easily taken the ring off without hesitation, but his lungs ache with each breath, feeling as if he's bruised a few ribs. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter's done some stupid things in his life. He has more than enough regrets. Too many to name. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He just never thought she'd be one of them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter doesn't see Michelle for the rest of the afternoon. She hides in the bedroom, presumably getting ready for the wedding eve dinner. And he's perfectly fine with that, not seeing her. He doesn't need to. Why would he? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stays in his own living space, losing track of all time as he just lays on the couch, mindlessly flipping through the channels on the TV. After hours, when the sun starts to set, he quickly gets dressed, wanting to get out of the condo before he can see Michelle again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, preferably, before he has a chance to run into Ned and Betty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's quiet outside, enough to lull him into a sense of calm and relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Peter really should have known better, because Ned's at the bottom of the stairs, dressed and ready for dinner, waiting for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. Shit. Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, hey, man," Peter says casually, trying not to let the way his heart drops into his stomach show on his face. He doesn't want to talk about this right now. Not ever. He wants to bottle it up, shove it down, and bury it forever. He forces a smile, hoping that he doesn't look as sweaty as he feels. "Waiting for Betty?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nah." Ned lets out a fond, amused huff. "You know for a fact she's already there, making sure everything's set up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the way his stomach seems to be on a neverending rollercoaster of loops, twists, and too-sharp turns, Peter musters up enough normal human behavior to laugh with him. "Right... Right. So—" He coughs as Ned starts walking, falling into step with him. "—what's this place your parents rented out?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Duke's," Ned answers, the normalcy in his tone giving Peter some sense of relief. "They didn't get the whole place. It has this like, outdoor patio… deck-thing that you can rent for a couple of hours. Looks over the water. It's pretty sweet."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, nice." Peter nods, swallowing. "Must've been pretty expensive." He knows he's grasping at straws here, trying to drive the conversation to a destination of strictly small-talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Ned seems to be going along for the ride. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Eh, kinda." He shrugs. "Mom only said not to worry about it." He lets out a snort. "Or google it."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, good. He's making jokes. Maybe he's forgotten. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, what happened with MJ?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lips twisted in frustration, Peter can't help but think how he always speaks too soon, always tripping one step ahead of himself. He unconsciously clenches his jaw at the question. "What do you mean?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his surprise, Ned doesn't show any hint of annoyance or exasperation; there's no tired groan or dramatic eye roll. He only turns his head, throwing him a single knowing look, before shifting his gaze straight ahead again. But it's not as if he's been struck with patience all of a sudden. He's still Done™, clearly tired of playing this game. He's tired of waiting for his best friend to stop dicking around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even then, Ned doesn't push for an answer. They walk in an almost-silence, Peter wondering if the wheels turning in his head are louder than his actual thoughts. It sure as shit feels that way. "Uh… Well…" He lets out a sardonic laugh. "We didn't really make things any better…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So something </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> happen?" Ned rushes to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter doesn't answer, feeling the tips of his ears turning red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I knew it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ned—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dude, how could you guys have made this worse? Like, you guys were already at each other's throats. What could you have said to each other that you haven't already?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter waffles on a straight answer. "Well… I mean—Ugh. I—Like I said… We didn't… talk—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You didn't sleep with her, did you?" Ned asks, almost as if it's a joke, a laugh under his tone. Like the question is made to ease the tension.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter winces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"PETER." Ned gasps, though it's hard to tell if it's an angry-surprise or just plain, normal, everyday surprise. "I can't believe you!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angry-surprise it is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Actually, wait, no, I can. Honestly? Why am I not more surprised—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ned, please. You're not helping."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned raises a brow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter scoffs, groaning as he runs a hand over his face. "You think I don't know how bad this is?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's… pretty bad." Ned agrees, the corners of his mouth tugging into a frown. "You guys were supposed to talk to each other. Not—" He gestures vaguely. "—have sex." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know, Ned." Peter's the one who rolls his eyes. "We—I tried. I really did. I wanted to apologize for what I said, y' know? At the bar about the whole… drink thing. But she—she wouldn't let me. And then I said shit, and she said shit and whatever and then all of a sudden she's kissing me and like… I don't know why I didn't think to stop her? And she just kept like grabbing me, like her hands were all over, and I couldn't think straight and then—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"—Okay, okay, okay. I don't need the whole rundown of what you guys did." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter flinches, looking down at the ground, watching his feet take one step in front of the other. "Sorry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's… fine." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel Ned's judgemental glare soften as he sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, this sucks," Ned says after a beat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Peter's laugh is the most genuine it's been. "Yeah."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But… I mean, I dunno…" Ned hesitates. "As bad as it is, and as unbelievably stupid as you guys were…" He shrugs, the faintest glimmer of hope underneath his tone. "This isn't something that you guys can't fix, you know? Like, you can talk this one out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like that, Peter's sucked right back into that moment in the kitchen. MJ's face as she told him what she really thought about the night they shared, how she'd left so abruptly after. He shakes his head, letting out a huff of sad amusement. "We already did."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Ned asks, thoroughly shocked, not seeming to believe for one second that his two friends actually managed to have an adult conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah." Peter nods, pressing his lips together into a tight line. "She said it was a mistake." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't have to look over to see the sympathy-pain in Ned's expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, shit…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah," Peter repeats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And…" Ned's brow furrows. "She… she meant it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's about to ask if MJ's ever said anything she doesn't mean, but he already knows that answer.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Always one exception, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks bitterly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh-huh," is his only answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another silence falls between them as they keep walking through the streets of Waikiki, though Peter swears he can hear the sound of Ned overthinking what he's just heard, swears that he can hear him trying to come up with some sort of plan or magic solution that'll fix everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe you could talk tonight, or—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"—Ned." Peter doesn't let him finish. He doesn't want to hear about how he just needs to talk to MJ. Not at all. He's tried that. Too many times now, and each time, she's shot him down. Sure, he's big enough to admit he hasn't been the most mature in his recent interactions with her, but that's only because of how she's been with him. Ned can't expect him to be nice to her when she literally can't even talk to him without saying something petty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even then, his next words are hard to get out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think we're done trying."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And for a moment, he thinks that Ned's going to drop the subject entirely, judging by the almost stunned silence radiating off of him. But Peter can feel the need to arguing practically boiling over. He's ready for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Ned can say anything at all, Peter jumps back in. "If you're worried about tonight, don't be. I can ignore her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Peter—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"—I can."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You've promised that so many times already," Ned huffs. "And every time, it fails. You guys always find some way to get on each other's nerves." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter sputters. "I—" He laughs defensively. "We—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"—Tell me I'm wrong." Ned dares him with a pointed look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And frustratingly, Peter finds that he can't argue. The restaurant's glowing neon sign is just ahead, and he wonders if he can hold out on not answering Ned for however many steps it'll take to get there. Maybe once he's inside, he can make his escape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Peter doesn't respond, Ned lets out what sounds like a defeated sigh. "Listen, man. I know this is hard. It sucks. You guys are hurting, and I get that. But—" He pauses, taking in a breath. "—It's not gonna get any better if you guys keep doing… whatever it is you're doing."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You think I don't know that?</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what Peter wants to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he holds back. There's no point in trying to fight on this. Whatever Peter comes up with, he knows that Ned will always have some sort of rebuttal because he doesn't understand. And how could he? This trip is about his and Betty's wedding. He's the one who's getting married, the one who's about to enjoy wedded bliss with the love of his life. Clearly, what went wrong with Peter and MJ never happened between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's jaw sets as he opens the door to the restaurant for Ned, gesturing for him to go first. The more he thinks about it, the more tired he is of people who have no idea what he's going through, dishing out the same advice. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Talk to her!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You have to talk to each other!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As if a conversation will fix any of this shit between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter would laugh if his throat didn't feel like it was seconds away from just slamming shut on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. He can and will be ignoring MJ tonight. He'll avoid any and all contact with her. It'll be easy. One, because she's already been crystal fucking clear about her feelings towards him and the idea of the two of them holding an adult conversation about their past. And two, it shouldn't matter whether or not she talks to him anyway. What more can they even say? He's pretty sure tacking on another sentence or two is only pouring straight gasoline on the already full fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'll ignore her. Just like he's ignoring the pang in his chest every time he thinks about her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first floor of the restaurant is crowded, bustling with locals, tourists, and stressed servers. Peter follows Ned to a staircase leading up to the next floor, the chorus of drunken laughter and overexcited chattering growing louder with each rising step. The stairs lead further up to a third, final floor, where Peter assumes the dinner will be. Honestly, if this were any kind of normal vacation, he might get lost in the whole atmosphere of this place. It'd be a pretty sight, the twinkling gold lights hanging from the ceiling inside and pergola on the deck outside, the oranges and pinks bleeding into the dark blue of the night sky as the sun sets over the ocean. He might be able to close his eyes and take in the soft music from the speakers or the steady ebb and flow of the waves on the shore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can't.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing Peter can manage to do right now is mindlessly follow Ned, not paying attention as they walk up to the open bar and order their drinks before moving to Betty and Liz as they finish up wrapping the last bit of string lights around a column. It's a confusing feeling, seeing the way Betty turns and smiles at her soon-to-be-husband when one of his hands comes to rest at the small of her back, the way Ned's eyes twinkle with warm affection. On one hand, Peter is stupidly happy for his friends. Really. He is. And on the other, just as it was at the airport earlier this week, there's a certain ache lingering underneath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And no matter what he does, he can't seem to shake it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, he's come to accept this feeling. Not that it's okay, by any means, but… He knows that realistically, there's nothing he can do to get rid of it. Nothing now, at least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Peter?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes him a second to realize that Betty's asked him something, judging by the way she's looking at him expectantly, waiting for some kind of reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned, who also happens to be watching him, looks a little more terrified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty doesn't seem to notice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry—" Peter coughs, scratching the back of his neck. "—Uh… What?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn't seem annoyed with him or angry. The corners of her mouth quirk upward into a faint, cautious grin. "I just asked how the cruise was?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's own smile is strained. "Uh… Fine. It was fine." He lies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's impossible to miss the wince that flashes across her features. Ned's eyes are still on him, waiting to see what else he says, if anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Peter leaves it at that, not willing to relive those particular scenes from the night before. Betty seems to understand immediately, knowing not to push—that or she doesn't want to risk prematurely ruining her Wedding Eve dinner—her brows knitting together as she nods quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Place looks great, Babe," Ned pipes up, changing the subject entirely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The upward tick of Betty's lips shows a hint of touched shyness. "Thanks!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, she really put us to work," Felicia says as she walks up. "You'd think the guests could just sit and relax, but no," she jokes, nudging the bride-to-be playfully. "See those lights? That was all me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And Gwen," Betty corrects with a hint of amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"—Who was too busy making eyes at Miles to help, but yeah. Sure."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all share a laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Felicia turns her attention to Peter. "And where were </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> best man?" She teases. "Too busy hiding in your condo to help out?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For once, Peter manages a smile. "No… No. I was with…" His voice trails off, though, when he looks up, his eyes catching </span>
  <em>
    <span>hers</span>
  </em>
  <span> as she walks through the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And of fucking course, MJ looks beautiful. She always does. Would he expect anything less? He bites the inside of his cheek, trying everything to ignore that familiar, aching pull in his chest, the one that's desperately begging him to go to her, the one that seems to be best friends with that stupid glimmer of hope he's buried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She holds his gaze for only a split-second, blinking, pretending not to notice him as she approaches the group. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Goddammit.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Peter swallows, staring into his drink. "I was with Ned," he finally gets out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group doesn't miss the way his smile falters, fading; the way his jaw tightens as he looks down at his feet when Michelle joins them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels his body tense, ready to run away now that she's so close. It takes more strength than ever to not look at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Felicia, Ned, and Betty continue the conversation, saving it from bleeding out on the floor. They talk to MJ, Felicia giving her the same crap she gave him, but Peter can't hear a word they're saying over the sound of his own heart beating in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point, as the other guests arrive and the dinner party commences, Paulina's there, hanging off of Brad's side like she might have in her sorority days. Her smile is all sorts of sultry, too much so for her daughter's rehearsal dinner. "Sorry we're late. Brad and I were—" She laughs, lowering her voice but not quite enough to be unheard by literally everyone else. "You know."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty's lips press together as she forces a tight grin. "Got it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's then that, as Paulina's eyes tipsily move to him, that Peter finally tears himself away from the group—in desperate need of a refill of his dark and stormy. He sees May and Happy in deep conversation with Ned's parents, May gesturing wildly, her eyes wide with excitement and warmth as she speaks, then squeezing shut as she laughs. Happy takes a moment to just look at her, the corners of his lips pulling back into a fond smile as he watches her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a sight that's almost enough to cheer Peter up, seeing his aunt so loved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when he looks out at the rest of the deck, MJ meets his eyes for a second time that night. There's a hint of nervous determination behind them, one that makes his stomach twist. He takes another slow sip of his drink, pointedly breaking away from her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His will seems to be weaker than ever, though, because as soon as he puts his drink back on the counter, his own eyes betray him. He looks back at her, the twisting and tugging in his gut getting worse as she starts to walk over to him. Her steps are slow and calculated, careful, as if peeling off a bandaid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not quite knowing what to do with himself, Peter picks up his drink again, his grip around the cold glass tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey." She says as she reaches him, her hands unconsciously fiddling with the fabric of her dress. Her voice is barely above a murmur, no strength behind it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter barely looks up at her from behind his glass. "Hi."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees her lips twist as she briefly looks down at her shoes. She's nervous. What for, he doesn't know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So. I wasn't being completely honest. Earlier." She finally says after a beat of heavy silence. "And... For my own conscience, I need to tell you the truth."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's not sure what to expect, really. How can she possibly make this any worse? She's already said everything he needed to hear. He gives an impassive shrug. "Okay."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She still doesn't look at him as she speaks. "It wasn't a mistake. Last night." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter wants to laugh. Honestly, truly he does. He nearly chokes on his drink. What the actual fuck? She can't actually be serious, right? How is he supposed to buy this? His throat burns. He gives in, choking on a strained laugh. "Wow. Sure. Okay."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her expression starts to fall, hardening. "What?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's just…" The lump in his throat grows. "Yeah. I don't believe you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michelle's arms fold across her chest. Her eyes narrow, brows furrowing as she fixes him with an exasperated glare. "Why?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that damn urge to laugh comes right back. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why??</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, you lied the entire last month of our relationship," He scoffs, frustration welling in his chest at the prickling behind his eyes. "So, I don't really see why I should believe you now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She groans, rolling her eyes. "God, Peter. Seriously?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs petulantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell are you talking about?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's face scrunches in annoyed confusion. There's a bitter taste on his tongue, not from the alcohol. "Are you forgetting the part where you said you were gonna marry me? And then… didn't? Because I remember that. Really well, actually."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh. That's interesting." Something flashes in her expression, the muscles in her face tightening. But she doesn't hold back. "I think you're confusing that with the part where you pressured me into saying yes to a proposal that I didn't even want and then blamed me for everything going wrong."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I</span>
  </em>
  <span> blamed </span>
  <em>
    <span>you?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Peter shakes his head, his face growing hot. "Is that right? You didn't do anything wrong. Right. You're the one who got hurt. Yeah. Checks out." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to turn away from her, but there's something in him that keeps him in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She runs a hand over her face, her voice tight. "God, I didn't come over here to argue, Peter—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shocker."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Will you shut up?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I thought you wanted to talk."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Guys!—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They instantly look up, seeing Ned and Betty quietly fuming right in front of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peter thinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn't look as if the rest of the party's caught on, that much Peter can tell. But his best friends don't look happy. At all. The opposite, in fact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty lets out a sharp exhale through her nose. She takes a moment before she says anything, her eyes closing as she calms herself. "I think you should go," she says finally, almost under her breath, her tone equivalent of a parent scolding their child in church. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's that damn rock in Peter's chest again. He winces, unable to find the words to make up an adequate apology. Michelle looks the same, small under her friends' gazes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh… Go?" Peter says after a beat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Go. I don't care where. The condo. The sidewalk. The beach. Whatever. Just…" Betty huffs. "Leave and work out whatever shit you have left to deal with, okay?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's nothing else we need to talk about…" Peter mutters stubbornly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bullshit," Ned says, his own glare narrowing. "You guys. We love you. We're sorry that you're both clearly still hurting. But—" He pinches the bridge of his nose. "—We've given you so many chances to be cool, to at least get to a point where you don't wanna kill each other."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty turns sharply on her heel, storming off. Ned gives them a stern glare, not so gently nudging them both to the door. "No buts. Go. Talk. Get out of here. Calm down."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If anyone needs to calm down, it's MJ—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"—Peter, I swear to God." Ned cuts him off as he pushes them away, though he's subtle enough as to not make it a scene. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And speaking of MJ; she's been silent throughout this whole thing, not once coming up with some snarky remark or scathing comment about Peter's supposed lack of maturity. It's honestly surprising that she's lasted this long without doing so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They end up on the sidewalk just outside the entrance, neither of them saying anything as Ned walks back into the bar. Peter can't help but roll his eyes at how MJ's refusing to look at him, her arms folded tightly across her body, holding her own arms. And, he can't help but feel the twinge of annoyance that this had been her fault. Hadn't it? She was the one who came to him. She was the one who started this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, at least. He'll give her that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he had been doing just fine with his little plan. And then she ruined it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Awesome job back there. Really." He's unable to stop the words from coming out, unable to swallow the bitterness in his tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. It's my fault. Of course, it is," she spits under her breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Always so observant."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're the one who can't seem to act like an actual adult. I literally came over to admit that I wasn't being honest—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"—Lying."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michelle looks ready to pull her own hair out at this point. "—See! You just can't shut up! You're physically incapable of being a mature human being!" She snaps. "It's like I'm arguing with an actual toddler!" She groans. "God, just for like one second, can you stop trying to ruin Ned and Betty's wedding just because you couldn't have one?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's jaw drops, his eyes burning, the bile in his throat rising. While he's certainly thrown his own harsh punches in all of these shouting matches, that's a low blow. "I'm the one trying to ruin everything? I wish I could say I was surprised. Really, I do. You—you have some nerve, alright? God, I tried to make things better. I fucking tried already. And what did you do? You ignored me. You brushed me off. You're the one making things harder than they already are! You're the one who said yes and took it back!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, Jesus Christ. Not this again. For fuck's sake, Peter—" Her fists clench at her sides. "I can't believe I'm saying this again, </span>
  <em>
    <span>but you're</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one who proposed. You're the one who didn't think for one fucking second to consider how I felt about everything. How maybe I didn't want the same thing you wanted."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You could have said no. Or you know, said it earlier on. Before I proposed. It's easy." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, it's easy, is it?" She asks mockingly, nodding. "What? And you would have been perfectly fine with that? Really?" Her laugh is humorless, sending a chill over him. "You would have stayed?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I would have at least known how much of a mistake I was making. Maybe I wouldn't have wasted so much time picturing our future together, or—or buying that stupid ring… or being with someone who didn't even fucking love me!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His words shock them both into a thick silence. Peter struggles to steady his breathing, clamping his mouth shut as he crumples on the curb of the sidewalk. He bites down, unable to fight the slight waver of his chin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without looking, he knows she's still standing there. He stubbornly wipes at his eyes, shoving away any wetness forming. He sniffs. His heart is racing in his chest, thundering violently against his ribs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michelle doesn't say anything, her arms still wrapped around her body, as she lowers herself next to him. She stays silent as she sits there, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see her fidgeting with her dress again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The faint thumping of the music inside the bar is the only sound between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he feels Michelle's eyes on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Peter…" She says, her voice barely above a whisper. It's a sound that yanks at his heart and punches his chest all at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Peter." She says again, more insistent, voice stronger. When he still doesn't look up or speak, she lets out a shaky sigh. "It wasn't… It wasn't that I didn't love you. You know that… right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, he looks at her, knowing his eyes are red-rimmed and cloudy. His brow pinches together, seeing the sadness in her expression, her own eyes watery. Maybe he did know deep down that she did love him. That it wasn't all a lie. But the feeling was so deeply buried underneath months of resentment, months of thinking it was all for nothing, it was all a mistake. He's spent too much time feeling betrayed. And now, hearing her say those words, he finds himself wanting so desperately to believe her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it's difficult. So fucking difficult. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he wants to look away, but something's keeping the two of them right there, frozen in place. The look on her face makes his chest ache; it reminds him that she's hurting, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without another word, she leans closer, her eyes drifting lower. And with the lightest of touches, her lips press against his. The kiss is chaste, nothing like the night before, and more than anything, he wants to melt into her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she pulls back before he can, her eyes fluttering open as she meets his gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks that he hears her mutter an apology, but he's not sure, and he doesn't have time to say anything else before she's getting up and walking back into the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaving Peter alone on the curb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The apartment is pitch black when Peter steps through the front door again at nearly two in the morning. Their bedroom door is locked, no light coming from underneath. It's silent, save for the droning hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter feels his heart climb into his throat, looking at their living room. Their furniture. Their pictures on the walls and end tables. There's a pile of his clothes haphazardly thrown on the sofa, wrinkled and tangled together. And on top of one of them, Peter catches a glint in the stray patch of moonlight. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The ring.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There's nothing he can do to stop the slight shake of his hand as he picks up the cotton and the engagement ring. Nothing he can do to stop the way his vision blurs and his chest hurts as his fingers smooth over the white gold band while his other hand grips the t-shirt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And without another thought, he knows what he has to do. What she wants. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He pockets the ring, dropping the shirt on the rug as he rushes for the door. He doesn't know where he's going. Not in the slightest. But he doesn't care. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The door slams behind him. He doesn't look back. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And it ends with a crumpled up t-shirt. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oops</p><p>Follow me on tumblr @spiderman-homecomeme or on twitter @smhomecomeme!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Great Expectations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WE'RE IN THE ENDGAME NOW</p><p>jk we've still got one chapter left!! </p><p>This chapter is going to be a little shorter than the other chapters, but I still hope you enjoy it! Thank you all for your patience and for all the love and support throughout this story!! We're almost there!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>MJ doesn't know how long she's been lingering just outside Betty's door, too focused on the jagged rock forming in her stomach as she picks at the skin of her thumb. The rest of the dinner the previous evening was spent on the verge of tears, and frankly, Michelle's surprised that she was able to hold it together for so long after that explosive argument with Peter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After he'd accused her of never loving him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After she'd kissed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn't normally one for emotional outbursts, given that she's always had trouble sharing her true feelings with anyone that wasn't in her immediate bubble. Still, little by little, her carefully crafted exterior grew dangerously close to shattering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter didn't end up following her back into the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was fast asleep on the couch by the time she had tip-toed back into the condo at nearly one in the morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michelle was not so lucky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, she'd tossed and turned. Her eyes would close, and she would see his face again, how hurt he'd looked. She'd remember his words, how much they'd stung, how angry they'd made her. It baffled her that he could say with his whole chest that their relationship was a waste of time, that she never really loved him. How could he think that? How could he question her feelings?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all they'd been through? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, Michelle loved Peter more than anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And kissing him last night was not a mistake; nothing with him ever was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But while she feels this sadness for him, while her chest aches and her eyes sting, she's endlessly frustrated that he still refuses to see things how she does, how he still can't seem to grasp that she was also hurt in all of this. He's being stubborn, and she knows this, too focused on his own pain and grief for their relationship to recognize that they were on a two-way street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sucking in a breath, she steels herself, pushing through her hesitation and knocking on Betty's door. Her heart thumps against her ribcage as she waits, rising into her throat when she hears footsteps on the other side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty opens the door, and for the first time, Michelle finds that she can't read the expression on her friend's face. MJ offers a weak wave, her lips pressing together to keep them steady. "Hey."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And surprisingly, Betty offers a sad smile, wordlessly stepping aside so MJ can come in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm—" MJ swallows, taking a deep breath, finding it harder and harder to keep herself together with each second of silence. "—I'm sorry." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the look on Betty's face is almost enough to break her. "MJ—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she doesn't finish, instead wrapping Michelle into a firm hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And don't say it's okay, because it's not," MJ says as she hugs her back. "I was a real dick."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty laughs, giving another warm squeeze before pulling away. "How about I say that I forgive you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I—" Michelle finds herself chuckling with her, wiping at her eyes. "—I, God, I don't know."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Really, MJ. I do." Betty adds with a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry Ned and I were so… So callous." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Michelle finds herself shaking her head, her brows pulling together as she frowns. "No! Definitely not too callous. No—" She clears her throat. "—I think… Peter and I… needed that. I think people were kinda letting us get away with too much." She almost laughs. "We needed that push, I guess."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And surprisingly, Betty smiles at that. "Did you guys talk?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michelle winces, her expression falling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty's follows, her eyes casting downward. "I saw he didn't come back up with you last night."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you okay?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I will be."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And before she can say anything else, Betty pulls her into another hug, knowing that that was what her friend needed at that moment. "I'm so sorry, MJ."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time since the night before, Michelle feels the familiar, annoying stinging behind her eyes, blurring her vision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she pulls back again, she can't help herself, still in her robe, her hair curled, make-up halfway done. But still, a bride. "You look so beautiful," she says through a weepy smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty laughs, looking down at the periwinkle blue dress MJ has on. "You, too." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And even in her sadness, standing there with Betty, Michelle finds herself feeling that spark of happiness for her friends again. It's faint, but it's certainly there. This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> day, a time to celebrate and share their love for each other. It's not a time for tears—at least, not sad ones. Michelle's more than willing to bet that there will be plenty of happy crying at the ceremony, given that she already knows what Betty's put in her vows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's clear that Betty still worries about her, though, even as the mid-morning bleeds into early-afternoon. Even as Paulina shows up, Felicia, Liz, and Gwen in tow. Even as the room is filled with giddy laughter and the occasional bout of sniffles. Through the glowing joy and buzzing excitement, MJ will feel inevitably feel Betty's eyes on her; she can see the slight furrow of her brow, the slight downturn of her mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Michelle simply smiles back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, it's Betty's wedding day, and the fact that she's spending her time being worried about something so small in comparison, such as her friend's rocky relationship with her ex, is unacceptable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought forces Michelle to blink back even more tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>May and Mariela pop in for a moment, oo-ing and aw-ing at Betty, angelic in delicate, flowy white. May wipes under her eyes, the girls all laughing good-naturedly with her as she pulls Betty into a warm embrace. Paulina and Mariela do their best to hide their emotions, only to fail when openly teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as the older women shed their happy little tears, Michelle can't help but notice how, for the first time since she'd arrived in O'ahu, how light her heart feels in her chest. For once, there's no ache, no pain. Only warmth. A spark of something she can't quite name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's in just how happy Betty looks in this moment, surrounded by her friends and family. It's not even time for the actual wedding to start, and already her cheeks look like they hurt from smiling so much, how she laughs as her mom wraps her into a motherly hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, it's in the way May comes to sit by Michelle, placing a comforting hand on her forearm, squeezing gently. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to. One gesture speaks volumes; loud enough that Michelle can do nothing to keep her vision from clouding, her eyes from burning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It says a kind, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm here for you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know it hurts. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, no one seems to notice the way Michelle's chin quivers, the way the corners of her lips violently twitch downward for the briefest moment. The feeling from before fades.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sucks in a harsh breath, forcing a smile as she looks over to May. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a strange, messy concoction of emotions, one that she's not sure what to do with. It's not something that she can just brush aside, not something that she can easily ignore. Nothing is ever so simple. But she stands by what she said to Betty earlier; she knows that somehow, she'll be okay. That eventually, it won't hurt as much, thinking about everything that's happened, everything they've said to each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If anything, that gives her some sense of peace, knowing that this isn't permanent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then again, there's still doubt; she's not even sure she believes herself. Because in all honesty, it's hard to see how things can possibly get easier, how one day, she'll be fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tries to swallow that doubt, managing to pull herself together as the girls leave little-by-little, eventually leaving Michelle with Betty and her mother—the two women proving to be a good distraction from the current tangle of emotions Michelle's feeling at the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paulina fawns over her daughter, tucking away loose strands of hair into her bun, smoothing the soft silk chiffon of her dress, making sure the loose straps are draped just the right way. It's strangely heartwarming, seeing Betty's mother so calm yet still so vibrantly herself as he takes her daughter's hand, leading the two of them out of the powder room and into the warm Hawaiian sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liz waiting for them outside the venue, under the first awning, the white and blue bouquet held out in her hands for Betty to take. Betty's father, Nikolas, is there too, smiling as he pulls her into his arms. He sniffs, wiping away the tears welling in his eyes, saying how beautiful his "button" looks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned's somewhere around here, she knows, probably on the other side of the venue, waiting to walk down the aisle on the beach—no doubt beside himself with giddy nerves. That's another thing that can make her smile. But then, she knows that Peter's with him, and that same, heaviness to her heart returns. She knows that soon, she'll have to face him. The best man and maid of honor, of course. They'll have to walk down the aisle together. Arm in arm. How she could have overlooked something like that, she has no idea. How it had snuck up on her, the mere thought of him right next to her, causing her stomach to twist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling ill again, Michelle watches as Paulina and Nikolas walk through the archway towards the aisle, Liz following close behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's the soft music from the string quartet as they play a gentle waltz—but Michelle doesn't hear it, her senses overwhelmed as Peter steps into view. The muscles in his face are tightened, his jaw clenched as he walks over. He manages a smile at Betty, making sure to tell her how beautiful she looks, his eyes barely meeting Michelle's before he's tearing them away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are moments as they get ready to start, moments where their gazes meet for a split-second, moments where she swears the air will crush her lungs like a tin can. But it never lasts. He can't even look at her. It's only a short walk down the aisle, a small ceremony—the bridal party consisting only of her and Peter—that's only meant to last at least half-an-hour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it's being here with him, right then, that has her feeling as though she's trapped in quicksand. And she can't help but notice, can't help the prickling ache in her chest when she sees how handsome he looks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She's not sure how they get to the archway, the white sand and turquoise waters of the beach ahead of them, but she feels Peter walking beside her, the soft brush of his arm against hers. Her heart hammers, her throat constricting as he takes her arm in his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hates how right it feels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall into step easily, matching a slow pace to the cellist's bowing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their friends and family are in their seats, looking over their shoulders and smiling at the maid of honor and best man, and for once, there's no hint of apprehension in their stares. It's as if they'd all seemingly forgotten the past few days, the drama these two had caused with their bickering and blatant resentment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's as if the night before hadn't happened at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And honestly, it fills MJ with a sense of relief that surprises her; that this—in an odd way—feels normal, and that she can pretend along with them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when they get to the end and go their separate ways, she finds that she still can't look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she doesn't need to—the quartet stops their song, transitioning into a muted version of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Here Comes the Bride</span>
  </em>
  <span> that pulls at her heart as Betty appears. Everyone stands, Paulina already openly weeping as Brad places a comforting hand on her lower back as her daughter walks down the aisle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned, of course, is beside himself. His jaw hangs open, eyes already brimming with unshed tears as he gapes at her. He covers his mouth, unable to look at anything but her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michelle dares a glance at Peter, only to find him tearing his own gaze away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She does the same soon after, though she wonders if she feels him look back at her again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned is near inconsolable by the time Betty makes it to him. Peter's smiling now, proudly patting his friend on the back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's beautiful, what the officiant says—at least, that's what Michelle can assume, given how the tears in Ned and Betty's eyes only seem to be getting bigger by the second. He keeps it short and sweet, prompting the couple to recite their vows that they've prepared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michelle braces herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned goes first, his hands shaking as he pulls a folded, creased piece of paper from his suit pocket. He smiles, taking a breath.</span>
  <em>
    <span> "Betty… I am so proud to be standing with you here today. Proud and unbelievably lucky; to call you my best friend, my partner in crime, and now, my wife…"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Already, there doesn't seem to be a dry eye in the small corner of the beach. Michelle feels the corners of her lips twitch upward, her throat tightening. Listening to Ned pour his heart out and give it solely to Betty is enough to push everything in her mind aside; it's only her two friends, near-tears as they go on and on about how much they love each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>MJ would always like to say that she's not a sap, that she's not some hopeless romantic who cries at weddings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the way Ned looks at his soon-to-be-wife… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way his voice catches as he speaks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"...and you have shown me, you've given me a love that I never knew I could know, and I will always cherish that. Betty…"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It all starts to feel so close to home. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"...imagining this moment for so long. I remember seeing you walk into calculus and thinking how much I wanted to just talk to you. It was then, I think, that I fell in love with you…"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>How fast it had been—not with butterflies or with stomach knots, but how the overwhelming warmth and safety had washed over her in a calming wave. How she'd just realized, one day, that she was truly gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"...Falling in love with you wasn't like falling at all,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ned manages. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michelle can't help herself as she passes a glance to Peter, her heart stopping in her chest seeing his—red-rimmed and watery—already on her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And again, he tears himself away. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"It was more like walking into a house and knowing that you're home."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a pang in her chest, her breathing shallow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty mouths </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you</span>
  </em>
  <span> in return to Ned, clearing her throat as she starts to recite her own vows, hers seeming to be from memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course, she would,</span>
  </em>
  <span> MJ thinks fondly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And her friend makes it okay through the first few sentences, returning</span>
  <em>
    <span> every one of Ned's sentiments. He's her best friend. Her partner. And soon, her husband. "...You have always loved me for me; without any reservations. Without judgment. Even at my most high-maintenance,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> she laughs through a sniffle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"You have taught me so much in our years together; how to love and how to be loved, and I want nothing more than to be in love with you forever..."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She swears that she can feel his eyes on her again, but she doesn't look. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"...and from the moment I met you, Ned, I somehow knew that I had found a happiness that I thought could only exist in fairy-tales… It's in the way you listen to me when I'm rambling, or… or how you look at me with such patience and compassion…" </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The first tear falls as she tries to blink it back, trailing down her cheek before she tries to subtly wipe it away. She almost hadn't noticed it, too lost in her friend's words, in the feeling of fleeting glances burning into her. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"...We went from two reckless, annoying teenagers who loved freely to two adults—who might still be a little bit reckless and annoying—that have learned that pure love takes hard work and dedication…"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And although everything in her screams at her not to, she looks up again, her eyes meeting his, holding his stare for a moment too long before drifting away.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"...and I promise to not only love the person you are today, but to love the person you grow into..."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a chorus of sniffing and the occasional sob from Paulina as they exchange the rings, as the officiant declares them husband and wife, everyone erupting in cheers and applause when Ned can finally kiss Betty, his bride. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them run hand in hand—as well as they can on a beach—down the aisle, disappearing through the archway, all smiles and giddy laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their friends and family follow, leaving Michelle and Peter still by the altar. She can still feel his gaze on her, but for the life of her, she suddenly can't manage to return it as she walks toward the awning. It's too painful. Too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All she wants to do is celebrate her friend's marriage, go to the reception on the deck of the venue, and not think about </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not think about anything at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She still has a maid of honor toast to get through; to recite it without bursting into tears would be preferable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a tugging in her gut when Peter says nothing as he loosely follows, when he doesn't say anything to her at all. He doesn't try to get her attention. He doesn't attempt to apologize for the night before. He's utterly silent, yet she feels as if she can hear his mind running at a thousand miles per hour from nearly ten feet away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reception is just as lovely as the ceremony had been, the venue providing an expansive patio with a breathtaking view of the beach. An open bar, live music, never-ending appetizers—all courtesy of Betty's parents endlessly trying to one-up each other. While it's a small group, an intimate affair, consisting only of close friends and family, it feels more special than if they'd invited all of New York. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the size of their party doesn't keep Michelle's frayed nerves at bay as she prepares her speech for Betty. She's known what she's wanted to say ever since Betty asked her to be her maid of honor. MJ had hung up the phone, instantly grabbing her notebook and pen, jotting down every single thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now, it's incredibly daunting as she waits at the table, the music fading into the background as she reads that same piece of paper over and over again. She tries to distract herself, rising from her seat and managing to spare some conversation with Liz and Felicia. The two of them still seem to be recovering from the vows, going on and on about how they'd started crying in so little time, almost turning it into a competition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michelle smiles, able to laugh despite the gnawing in her stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanders to the bar, ordering a glass of champagne to combat the edge, hoping that </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>will at least help. Someone else seems to have the same idea, and her chest aches before she even sees him. They sit in silence as they wait for their drinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this one isn't like any of the others they'd shared in the past week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's new. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And somehow, it hurts even more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bartender passes her drink, and she's gone before she can give herself another chance to look at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dinner is served shortly after, everyone taking their seats once again. Peter sits across from her, his fingers thrumming against his champagne flute. Ned and Betty are next to each other, of course, between Peter and MJ. Miles and Gwen make themselves at home on the opposite side, laughing with everyone else about something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michelle hadn't quite heard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just minutes into the meal, Flash takes to the microphone, the first toast of the evening showy and dramatic in his own way that they've all come to know and—somewhat—love. He's rambling on and on about Hawaii, how beautiful a day it is for a wedding, and even managing to throw in a plug for his YouTube channel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"...And it's my pleasure to call up our maid of honor and best man, Peter, and MJ, for some toasts that unfortunately will not be as awesome as mine, but they'll probably be… alright."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a smile on his face that says he's only half-joking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it's with a start that Michelle realizes she's first as he holds the microphone out to her, saying her name. She rises, smoothing out her dress—simultaneously drying her sweating hands—and comes forward, taking the mic in her already shaking hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Um, hi, everyone." She lets out a faint, nerve-ridden laugh, her fingers tightening on her glass of champagne. "You know me. I'm MJ." She clears her throat, managing a smile as everyone chuckles. "When Betty first asked me to be her maid of honor, I felt so flattered. But then, you know, as we got closer and closer to the day, she told me I'd have to make a toast and a speech. At first, I tried to think of ways to get out of this, but—" Her voice catches, realizing the joke may have been funnier before, well, everything. "—Have you ever tried to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Betty?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That gets a light laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's what I thought," she continues, her voice still wavering dangerously. "But, I am so happy to be here for you both today. Ned and Betty are two of my best friends in the entire world, and I can't express how amazing it is… see the two of you so happy—even when your best friends are annoying the hell out of you." She can feel her throat tightening with each word; she can feel every pair of eyes on her—one pair in particular. "And, standing here, it's hard to imagine a time when you guys weren't </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ned and Betty</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I know it exists because I can still remember telling Ned to just ask you out already when he kept bringing you up every two minutes when I was trying to study for that one APUSH final."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a sense of relief when even with her shaky delivery, everyone laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm going to say the word love a lot in these next few sentences, okay? Bear with me." A beat. "But… the love you guys have. It makes us laugh. It—clearly—makes us cry. It's the kind of love that cynics would try to make you think was impossible to find."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And still, even through her joking, there's nothing she can do to hide the emotion in her tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a wonderful feeling, knowing that my two best friends have found their person with each other—" And once again, her voice catches, and she makes the mistake of looking up, looking at him. "—knowing how much you make each other laugh. How much you love each other, no matter what. So," she clears her throat, raising her glass. "Today, we celebrate that love. Your future. To Mr. and Mrs. Brant-Leeds."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she can show any more emotion, she takes a drink of her champagne, putting on a smile as their friends and family clap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter rises, his fingers brushing hers as she hands him the microphone, the electricity from it sending a wave of goosebumps up and down her arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he smiles at everyone in the room, it's impossible to miss the distance in his eyes. There's warmth as he looks to Ned and Betty, but only for them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I first wanna say how much of an honor it is to be your best man, Ned. We've been best friends since middle school—if you can still imagine middle school, Ned, it's easy; same hair, same smile—and it's amazing being here, so many years later, giving this toast." He smiles, a beat passing as he gathers his thoughts. "And, I asked Ned before if there was anything I shouldn't say, and he said no. So, Betty, this is on him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile tugs at the corner of MJ's lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wanna thank everyone for coming today, and everyone for making this possible. All of us are here because we love this couple. So much. Enough to fly halfway around the world. And… a lot of us have been here since the beginning." He smiles fondly, shaking his head. "I remember Ned telling me, at lunch, that he wanted to marry her someday. Yes, he really said that. He's wanted to marry her since day one. And, you know, it amazed me how sure he'd been. Because we were only kids. At the time, I'd kinda brushed it off as you know, you would for a thirteen-year-old—" He shrugs, chuckling with everyone. "—but here we are. As with his many other talents, Ned can see into the future." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat passes, his fingers flexing on the stem of the champagne flute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But… Ned and Betty. Wow, you guys. I feel like a lot of people when they think about Ned and Betty," he starts, his tone calm and gentle. "They say that you guys were just meant to be, or… or that fate put you two together. That you're soulmates. But, I think when you look at it that way, it… it kinda diminishes how great your relationship really is." He clears this throat. "You guys show that love isn't something so simple as the universe just… smashing you together. That it's something you have to work for. And it… It gives me so much hope—" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's that moment that he finally looks at her, quickly averting his eyes as soon as she meets him. He breathes a smile back to Ned and Betty. "—Hope that even after so much happens, even when it's hard, you still love each other. That you don't back down. It gives me something to hold onto—get ready for a cliche, Betty—" He pauses to chuckle lightly, but the waver in his tone is impossible to miss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That the love that you guys have—real love—is something worth fighting for." He swallows, clearing his throat as he raises his glass. "To Ned and Betty."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's as his gaze meets hers again, with those final words, that she has to blink back the familiar burn in her eyes, that she ignores the slight tremble of her lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tears away, and she's slow to join the applause as he puts the microphone back on the stand, as she watches him make his way back to the table, the weight in her chest pulling and dragging her to the ground with each step he takes. His words ring in her mind, playing over and over as she looks at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fleeting glances don't go unnoticed; he catches her, and this time, he doesn't look away. There's a moment where she wonders if he's going to come over and talk to her, what he's going to say, what he's going to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as for the millionth time that day, he averts his gaze, and the moment's gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it flickers, on and off, into the early evening, as the sun lowers in the sky, touching the horizon as everyone continues to celebrate. There are times where she'll catch him looking at her, that same distance in his expression that she can't place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that same spark of happiness comes back as they laugh and joke with her newlywed friends. Ned and Betty both take their turns checking in on her, both of them quietly smiling as she insists that she's fine—she can only assume they're giving Peter the same treatment. And still, even if they did try and push the truth out of her, she knows what they'd say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knows how they'd tell her to just talk to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had been the broken record for the past week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, she had scoffed, knowing that merely talking to Peter was damn near impossible, that there was no chance in Hell that he'll ever listen to her. And, while she still can't tell for sure how much he'd be willing to hear, she's always known that it would be useless, that it wouldn't help them at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, she's not so sure. It's confusing, this feeling. After his speech, after hearing him say everything about love being something to fight for… she wonders how wrong they were, how stupid they were—and are. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, it still feels too late. Like they've already done more damage than they can ever dream of fixing. He's said too much. She's too angry with him, his accusations from the night before almost as loud as his speech tonight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she's still hurt. It still feels too fresh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, she tries everything in her power to push those feelings down, every single one. She buries them, throwing the metaphorical key back with another glass of champagne. The world outside of this patio is ignored, and she celebrates the marriage between her two best friends without thinking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That's at least what she tells herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's dark by the time everyone's exhausted, too drunk to keep dancing—or keep drinking—still cheering and shouting as they walk back to their condos and hotel rooms. Ned and Betty take the scenic route, walking hand and hand down the streets of Waikiki, taking their little happiness bubble with them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michelle leaves before Peter. She tells herself it's because she's tired, that it's only because she wants to climb into bed, curl up in the pillows, and go to sleep. It has nothing to do with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So she walks home alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She's greeted by the </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the air conditioning unit coming to life, but breathing in the cool air does nothing for the burning in her lungs. Her hand stills on the light switch, frozen as she stares into the dark living room. She leaves it be, her body carrying her somehow to the bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kicking her shoes off, she releases a shuddering breath, digging her nails into her palms as she clings to that last shred of calm. But the moment her head hits the pillow, the first tear falls down her cheek. Her eyes burn, her throat tightening as she tries to hold back a sob, burying her face into the crook of her arm. She doesn't know how long she lies there, holding herself as she quietly cries into her pillow, how long it is until the sound of the front door opening and closing echos throughout the condo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And somehow, knowing he's back only makes this worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sticks in her brain, an ugly reminder of how he'd thought so little of her love for him, how he'd accused her of never loving him in the first place. How he'd been able to forget everything they'd been through together in a matter of seconds, to just throw it out without a second thought. She shakes her head, the corners of her lips twitching violently as she sucks in a sharp breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hates how much she's let this get to her, how his speech at the reception had shaken her so much. And she's tired. So exhausted. Emotionally, mentally, physically. Right now, the only glimmer of hope can even begin to see is the fact that tomorrow, she can go home; try and move on from him. Actually try. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, she doesn't know if that's even possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because as long as she's friends with Ned and Betty, she'll have to see him. And that fact hits her like a swift kick to the chest. Peter's going to be in her life, somehow, someway. There's no way around it. How it can possibly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> hurt when she can't avoid him is beyond her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How she can possibly fall out of love with him…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because, yes, she realizes with another sob, she still</span>
  <em>
    <span> fucking loves him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a gentle knock on her door, and she freezes, holding her breath, listening. Another knock. A soft, "MJ?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crack in her heart grows, but she still sits up in the bed, pushing her hair back, running a hand over her face, wiping away any evidence that she'd been crying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's something in her that makes her stand up, that makes her walk to the door, that makes her slide it open, her hand stilling on the frame as she meets his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His own are watery as he looks back at her, his brows knitting together as he searches her face. His voice is shaky as it comes out. "Are you okay?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a dumb question, and he seems to know it, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michelle doesn't answer, pursing her lips as tears away, moving back to sit on the edge of the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter hovers at the door, his hands shoved into his pockets. "Can I… come in?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And despite herself, Michelle lets out a sad laugh, shrugging. "Sure." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"MJ—" His voice catches, his mouth clamping shut as he looks down at his feet. He takes a breath, taking a moment before meeting her stare. "I just wanted to say… I'm sorry for—for what I said. Yesterday. The day before. Three months ago…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she finds that she can't keep looking at him, turning her attention to a spot on the wall, biting her lip to keep it steady. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And—and I know that—that I hurt you. That—that you have every right to be angry with me, or to not speak to me—" He takes in a sharp breath, his voice tight. "—I'm just here—I just wanted to say that, and I know that I haven't been willing to listen before but—" He pauses, finally looking up, his expression twisted into one of regret. "I—God… I don't know. Just—" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets out a humorless laugh at her silence; it's not scornful or mocking, but a way to ease the tension he feels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks at him expectantly, waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs. "Tell me everything. How you feel. What happened?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think you know what happened," she jokes sadly, shaking her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know my side. I want yours. I won't interrupt."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A silence falls between them as Michelle sits up, her fingers drumming arrhythmically against her thighs. And he waits. He doesn't push. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," she starts, biting the inside of her lip. "First of all, I did love you. Yeah, I was pissed you proposed, but… I never stopped loving you."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Never.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"And—" she lets out a sad huff of laughter. "—me not wanting to marry you… it had nothing to do with you. I was scared. I was scared of getting married, scared of what would happen." Frustration wells within her as her vision blurs again, the lump in throat growing. "I was scared of losing </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> So... I said yes. And I was still scared… So I didn't tell you how I felt. And then everything you said that night… that there wasn't a point to us being together—I still think about that, Pete," she sniffs, shaking her head, not able to blink back any of her tears. "God, it still hurts. You thinking I didn't love you—I already said it, but fuck, that hurt, too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She takes a moment, collecting herself, her jaw clenching as she breathes in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And finally, she looks at him. "And then… when you didn't kiss me the other night, when you just fucking left—I know it's not… it shouldn't have bothered me as much as it did but… It just reminded me of that night, after you found the ring, after our big fight—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time, Peter stops her, though his voice is soft, weakened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean for that to happen. I—I didn’t mean to hurt you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why didn’t you come back?” And Michelle laughs again. A sad, pained sound that makes her wish her chest would just cave in. "You took the ring, and I didn't hear from you or see you for three months. And I don't know—" She huffs. "Maybe I shouldn't have expected anything but—" It breaks without warning, her face crumples, and she hides behind her hand, hanging her head as she lets out a sob. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mattress dips, and she feels Peter's arms wrap tentatively around her, she hears his own uneven breaths, his body wracking with a quiet sob. "I'm so sorry, Em—" He breathes into her hair, one of his hands smoothing over her curls, cradling her head against his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And even though it still hurts, even if her heart feels as if it's been filled with hot lead, she leans into him, her arms coiling around him, holding him tight against her, finding herself never wanting to let go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not this time.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>see!!! things are.... better???</p><p>right???</p><p>trust me</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Ex Marks the Spot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, here we are friends! Tiiiiiime tooooooooo say gooooooodbyyyyyyyye! It's been a few months since I started this story, and it has been such an incredible journey of angst and hatred. Thank you all for coming with me and putting up with these two idiots!! </p>
<p>I also want to thank each and every one of you reading, commenting, leaving kudos, bookmarking, and all of that jazz! You have all been amazing and your support for me and this story has meant so much to me. Truly. Thank you &lt;3</p>
<p>This is a long chapter, and I hope it makes up for all of the angst! Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There's a softness tickling his cheek, the warmth of her hand resting over his. He doesn't dare open his eyes as he turns his head, the feeling of hers resting on his shoulder as she sleeps soundly beside him, so close, making his heart soar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But his lungs ache.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter doesn't remember falling asleep. In fact, if it weren't for the dim blue light peeking through the curtains, he'd think it was still midnight, that no time had passed at all. No time since he'd knocked on MJ's door, since he'd finally listened, since he'd held her as they both cried. Her words still echo in his mind as he slowly wakes up. How he'd been so stupid, so selfish, how he'd cared so little for how she'd felt… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were no words to express how much of an idiot he'd been. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Any hope he'd had of things becoming unbroken, of things going back to the normal he missed so much, had been shattered last night. All he'd done in the past week had been pushing her even further away. With what he said, what he did. Everything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had no idea that she wanted him to come back. Maybe if he'd known, if she'd told him—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He knows that it's not her fault he left. He'd been stubborn, too stubborn to see anything past his own pain. He was selfish—cruelly so—blinded by his own sense of self-importance and misplaced anger that he'd failed to see things from her perspective. And now, having heard everything from last night, there's a sickening emptiness in the pit of his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again, his eyes open, and he's hit with the sinking realization that today is their last day. The room is still dark, illuminated only by the early morning blue of the sky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels the crack in his heart deepen, looking down to see MJ curled up next to him. It's a blur, the night before. He closes his eyes again, knowing that soon, this precious moment will end. Tomorrow, they'll be going home, back to their normal, everyday lives. Back to the distance he'd hated </span>
  <em>
    <span>so fucking much</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It hurts, realizing how much time he'd wasted here, having her so close to him; time wasted hating her, talking to her in all of the wrong ways. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he holds her, he wonders how differently this could have ended. If he had only just listened that first night they argued, if he hadn't stomped all over her feelings, if he had kissed her, if he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>stayed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It might not hurt, having her in his arms. It might not make his eyes burn, feeling her soft skin under his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It might feel normal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it doesn't. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carefully, as not to wake her, he slides out of bed, his body aching with a lack of solid sleep as he sits on the edge. He feels heavy, throat tightening as he breathes out slowly, covering his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He figures the first thing he can do is shower, at least, given that he's still in yesterday's clothes, but he stops, midway to the bathroom, seeing MJ shift in the bed, a shiver rippling through her. Without a second thought, he grabs the blanket kicked to the end of the bed, gently pulling it over her, his hand brushing her shoulder for the briefest of moments. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She's a cold sleeper, he knows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels numb as he enters the bathroom, unable to feel the cold tile on his bare feet. There's a hollowness to his chest as he turns on the shower, as he peels off his dress shirt, his slacks, undressing, waiting for the steam to fill the room before stepping in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water is warm as it runs over his shoulders, his back, wetting his hair. He closes his eyes, breathing slow as he hangs his head under the steady stream. It takes him a moment, tasting salt on his tongue, to realize that there are tears mixed with the hot water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stills, however, hearing the gentle click of the door opening, and he thinks that MJ's just come in to grab something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll be done in a minute," he says, his voice almost unrecognizable. He clears his throat, though he doesn't speak again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears rustling on the other side of the curtain before it's pulled back, and she's standing completely bare, her expression wrought with an exhaustion that he knows, the same one that he feels. He startles only for a moment, relaxing as he holds her stare. No words are said, everything silent, but the tapping of the water on the shower floor. There's that same tugging in his chest at the tint of vulnerability in her eyes, and he has to look away before holding his hand out to her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He makes room for her as she steps under the stream. He turns, training his eyes to a spot in the tile as she shampoos her hair, the soft floral notes giving him a fleeting comfort that he's almost forgotten. His heart thumps in his ears as he grabs the body wash, working it into a lather over his skin. They stand in silence, but he can't help his fleeting glances as she starts to wash her face and her body, the way his gaze desperately wants to follow the curve of her waist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tears himself away, knowing how dangerous it is to drink her in for so long. They wordlessly swap places when he needs to rinse off, their only form of communication being stiff, awkward gestures and the gentle brush of arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's when he goes for his shampoo that she finally speaks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Michelle reaches out, her hand on his forearm. "Can I?" She asks carefully, her voice uncharacteristically small. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he finds that he can't say no, nodding quietly before he can even think to speak as he hands her the bottle, watching as she squeezes a quarter-sized drop into her hand. His eyes close as she starts to lather the shampoo through his hair, her fingers massaging his scalp with a tenderness that makes his heart clench. Her touch is soft, an anchor that makes him forget for a moment that this is only temporary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They're both still healing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The faint brush of her breasts against his chest causes him to inhale a sharp breath, wanting desperately to rest his hands on her waist, the gentle curve of her hips. He feels her hand drift down to his, fingers intertwining as she backs up, leading him to stand under the stream of water. The sigh that leaves his lips as she goes back to running her hands through his hair is broken, and he hides it behind a quiet cough, his chest tightening with each gentle press of her fingers as she rinses the shampoo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when he opens his eyes, there's the beginning of a sad smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she looks at him, and he finds that he can only return the expression half-way, unable to ignore the thrumming in his chest. Her hand finds its way there, over his heart, tenderly, cautiously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can see the tears brimming in her eyes, matching his own; the slight tremble of her chin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"MJ—" He opens his mouth to speak, her name coming out in a shuddering breath. He's overcome with the urge to speak, to say something. What? He doesn't know. He doesn't know where to start. There's so much, </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> much, and he feels as if he'll never have enough time to say it all. "I…" He starts again, but his voice dies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't," she says, her voice barely audible. And her meaning isn't lost on him; she's not shutting him down. This isn't her avoiding the conversation entirely. No, this is her letting them stay in this moment; this is her saying not </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Later</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Soon</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There's a gentleness to her touch, a softness in her tone that he can't help but lean into. Her gaze flits downward, lingering there as his hand instinctively finds a home on her waist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there's a hesitation in her lips as they briefly press against his, as if she expects him to push her away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something he never wants to do again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes flutter open as she pulls back, searching his expression for something, anything at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hand comes to rest on her cheek, and he finds himself once again unable to speak. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, he kisses her back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's soft and slow, the way her lips move with his as the warm water cascades down his back. It deepens the ache in his chest, thinking how much he's missed this; missed </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His hands fall to her shoulders, the dip in her waist, remembering and knowing her body well. He wants so desperately to pull her closer, to hold her against him and murmur every apology into her lips and skin, but he still keeps her at a distance, not wanting to push anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She senses his trepidation, her own showing in the way her hand trembles as it trails down his chest, the muscles of his stomach, wrapping her fingers around his half-hard erection, coaxing a soft grunt from Peter's lips. She pumps him lazily, her thumb swiping over his tip as he continues to swell in her grasp. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"MJ…" His voice comes out in a broken moan as he pulls away from the kiss, his head falling to her shoulder as her mouth drags along his. He steadies himself, bracing with one arm on the shower wall behind her, the other on her waist, fingers digging into her skin as she works him over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's all so warm; her touch, her lips, the water running down his back, and he almost forgets the stinging behind his eyes as hot heat pools in the pit of his stomach. As he nears closer and closer, teetering on the edge, his other hand falls to the apex of her thighs, his fingers finding her clit with ease, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with an overwhelming tenderness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand stutters as he works her heat, and she leans forward, steadying herself on his shoulder with a shaky grip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it's as his name tumbles from her lips in a wet gasp as her pace becomes more insistent, desperate; his whole body tenses, feeling the warm waves pulse through him as he comes with a breathy whine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shivers, feeling her lips languidly dragging from his shoulder, to the crook of his neck, the underside of his jaw. His own movements have faltered, the rhythm of his fingers over her clit stilling as he comes down from his high. But he quickly recovers, pulling her closer, pressing her chest to his as he dips his fingers down to coat himself in her arousal, circling it over her clit, increasing his pressure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His lips trail along the column of her throat, her jaw, and they find a home at her temple, planting feather-light kisses as he brings her closer and closer to her own release. She mutters praises into his skin, words he can't so much as hear but feel. His heart clenches as she clings onto him, each breath becoming heavier than the last, gasps full of wanting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he holds onto her as she comes, her legs trapping his hand, keeping it in place as she moans into his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The minutes pass as they stand there under the water, in each other's arms, foreheads pressed together. It hurts Peter to pull away, but he has no idea how long they've been in here. He helps to rinse her off, and she returns the favor. The rest of the shower is spent in silence. Though there's no discomfort to it. No tension. It's an almost peaceful quiet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she comes back to him, gravitating back into his arms, a vulnerability in her tone that makes his chest tighten. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why didn't you come back?" Her voice breaks at the end, the way her words waver impossible to miss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sounds so tired. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter's arms bring her closer, wrapping tightly around her. "I didn't think—" he breathes. "I thought…" He pauses, trying desperately to control the shake in his voice. "I thought you'd kicked me out… after that fight." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lets out a shuddering sigh against him, shaking her head into his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he speaks again before she can respond. "I came home that night and—the door was locked… and my clothes were on the couch… I just… I don't know…" He sighs. "I saw that and—and I thought you were kicking me out. I thought that was it." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wishes he could see her expression, though he wonders if he'd even be able to read it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I…" She trails off, and he can almost hear her thinking. "After you left the first time, I tried to pretend everything was normal." There's a shake to her voice, one that tugs at his gut. "I made my dinner. I finished up that paper for Dr. Marquez. And I finished up the laundry you left in the washer—" she huffs out a sad laugh. "—and then I couldn't… pretend anymore. That's why I left it there. And—" She swallows, and he can hear how hard she's trying to keep herself together. "—I was just so mad… that you just walked out, that you wouldn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen</span>
  </em>
  <span>…" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then it dawns on him why she'd locked the bedroom door. Why she'd been so insistent on keeping him out. It only makes sense, as she struggles to make eye contact even now as he pulls back, his brows knit together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And then… You just disappeared. You didn't call. You didn't text…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I didn't know you wanted me to…" He says, his voice small. "You… You could've called me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Immediately, he knows it's not the perfect thing to say—not nearly so. MJ finally meets his gaze, but she doesn't seem angry. She lets out a single, weakened laugh. She shakes her head. "I didn't know you wanted me to," she echoes his words. "But, be honest… Do you really think you would've come back? If I called?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I do," he says without hesitation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughs again, tears brimming in her eyes. "Tell me why I don't believe you." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something familiar flares in Peter's chest, his jaw tightening as he looks down at his feet. "I—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"—Everything you said that night… That's why I didn't think you wanted me to reach out. That's why I never called. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> left." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's a pain in her gaze as she meets his, the corners of her lips twitching as she speaks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he finds that he can't reply. He doesn't as she moves the curtain of the shower back, stepping out before he can even think of a response. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter shuts the water off, still feeling his heart in his throat as he steps out and hands a towel over to MJ, averting his gaze and moving to the bedroom as she wraps it around herself. He's just pulled on a pair of boxers and sweatpants when she emerges through the door, her wet curls hanging loosely over her shoulders in a way that makes him want to brush them aside to make room for his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The inside of his lip is caught between his teeth as he struggles to come up with something to say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"MJ, I—" He releases a shaky sigh. "I was hurt. I was… angry. I thought you'd lied to me… saying yes…" He slumps onto the mattress, running a hand through his wet hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn't turn to face him, standing still, listening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I felt so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>betrayed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and—and confused about why you'd do that to me, why you'd do that if you really loved me…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can see her stiffen at his words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But—" He rushes to get out. "—None of that… is an excuse," he says, his voice breaking as he looks down at his shaking hands. "For how I acted. For what I said. For how I treated you. For how I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I—I should've stayed… To talk it out. I shouldn't have left. I was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking idiot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But—again—it doesn't take away the fact that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> leave. That I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> say those things. And I should've never pressured you into saying yes. I was wrong. So fucking wrong. I should've—I should've talked to you like a normal person about it. God... I—" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks up, surprised to find her looking at him, her expression unreadable. "I'm so sorry, Em. I'm so fucking sorry. I don't—I don't think I'll ever be able to apologize enough. You deserve so much more than apologies." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A heavy silence falls over them, near-shoulder crushing in its weight. Michelle stares down at her feet, her arms wrapped around her body, still holding her towel tightly. "I'm sorry, too," she finally says, to which Peter's gaze snaps to hers. "I—I shouldn't have kept how I was feeling from you. I… was scared. And I—God, I just didn't know what to do. So, obviously, I did the worst thing by… not… telling you." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"MJ—" Peter starts, immediately standing from the bed and crossing over to her. "—it's not… It's—it's my fault. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> made you feel like you couldn't tell me. I was the one who pressured you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I still hurt you, though," she replies quietly. "That still matters." She blinks, tearing her gaze from his for a moment. "I should've been honest with you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I shouldn't have assumed how you felt in the first place," Peter says, his voice failing him. "I should've talked to you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again, Michelle lets out a sad laugh as she wipes under one of her eyes. "There's a lot of things we should've done." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Peter readily agrees, the corner of his lips quirking upward into a weary smile. But he's tired of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>should haves</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the wondering how differently things might have been if they'd just talked to each other. He's done with all of that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, there's only </span>
  <em>
    <span>wills</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>won'ts.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Peter—" There's a strain to her voice as she looks down, her expression crumbling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he doesn't even think before he's pulling her into his arms, holding her against his chest. He feels his own tears start to fall again, squeezing his eyes shut as he murmurs apologies against her neck. As hurt as he'd been, nothing can compare to what he feels knowing how much pain he's caused her. He wishes he could take everything back, that he could go back in time and just throttle his past self for fucking up something so amazing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His lips press into her shoulder, the line of her neck, the underside of her jaw, taking his time in each spot to mumble something incoherent into her skin. He feels her grip on him tighten, the brush of her soft cotton towel against his stomach and chest as he keeps her close. There's salt on his tongue, his face wet with tears when he pulls back. His hand cradles her cheek, no longer able to hold back as his lips capture hers into a searing kiss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She melts into him, and he feels the towel wrapped around her pool at their feet, her hands flying to wrap around his neck as she's freed. It fills him with relief, being able to touch her soft skin again—even after just doing so in the shower—his hands greedy but gentle as they roam the expanse of her body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's a prickling in his chest when her hand reaches up to hold his face—his heart clenching at the tender gesture of her thumb smoothing over his cheek, wiping away his tears. His moan is breathy as she tilts her head, deepening the kiss, his fingers digging into her hips as her tongue slides into his mouth. All he wants is to reel her in, to bring her even closer than she already is. He wants to feel her. All of her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hand trembles as it trails up her side, resting over her ribs, his mind buzzing at the feeling of her heart thundering underneath his touch. It's dizzying, the soft sounds that come out of her as his thumb swipes the underside of her breast, the intensity in her touch igniting even more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's then that he breaks the kiss, both of them breathless, chests heaving as they press their foreheads together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wordlessly, Peter takes her hand, guiding her back to the bed. His hand gentle on her waist, he lays her down against the mattress, taking his time to let his eyes travel her body, drinking her in as if he's been dying of thirst. But his heart skips, seeing the tender vulnerability still in her eyes as she looks up at him, and he leans forward, his lips pressing against her forehead in a kiss that makes his throat tighten.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's not sure how much longer he has with her beyond this one day, not knowing what will happen when they leave Hawaii. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he's determined to not waste another second. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another second not kissing her, not touching her, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>being </span>
  </em>
  <span>with her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lump in his throat only grows as he trails kisses down the side of her face, her nose, her chin, finally stopping at her lips, soft and wanting against his own. Their first time this week had been rough, fueled only by resentment and anger, a desperate need to blow off steam. It had been a heated rush, no time taken to fully experience the moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now, his touches are reverent, his hands slow as they take her in. He pulls back, his lips finding a home along her jaw, dragging down the column of her throat, her collarbone, the top of her left breast, and he thinks he might see stars at the feeling of her warm heartbeat underneath his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Peter…" She breathes, and he glances up at her, her head falling back as his tongue swipes over her pebbling nipple. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes it into his mouth, his other hand climbing her body, coming to palm at her other breast, matching the steady rhythm his mouth sets. His eyes flutter closed, listening to the slight hitches in her breath, getting lost in the feeling of her muscles tensing, of her fingers carding through his hair, tangling themselves in his still-damp curls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her light gasp as he pulls away from her nipple sends a heat down to the pit of his stomach, and he almost smiles at the way her back arches slightly at the feeling of the cool air on her wet skin. He trails open-mouthed kisses in the valley between, down to her stomach and her hips as his hands gently prise her legs apart even further as he sits back on his knees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when he looks back up at her, as she sits up on her elbows to watch him, a warmth joins the ache in his chest, the softness in her expression causing his stomach to flip. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Nothing but her name. "MJ…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A smile tugs at the corner of her lips, the minuscule waver of her chin accompanying it. Peter smiles back, his thumb smoothing over the skin on the inside of her thigh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What?" She asks, her voice barely above a whisper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter's lips twitch violently as he looks at her, though his smile stays. "Just missed you." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I missed you, too." She exhales shakily, her own soft smile faltering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods, looking down. "And just… thinking about how different this week could have been. Just wanna make up for it. I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>gonna</span>
  </em>
  <span> make up for it." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her breath hitches at that, and she squirms slightly at the persistence in his tone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A soft, "Okay…" Is all she can manage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wordlessly, Peter sinks down again, his lips hot as they move languidly over her hips and dragging to the inside of her thigh. He settles into the space she's made for him, his arms wrapping around the backs of her legs as he pulls her closer. He hovers there, simply breathing her in, before planting slow kisses along her lips. He hears her faint gasp, finding himself smiling against her as his mouth grows more insistent, hungrier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's all so familiar, the feeling of her already coming undone underneath him, her rapid heartbeat under his touch, her shuddering breaths as his tongue dips to her entrance, teasing, swirling her arousal. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>her taste</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks as he moans openly against her. He squeezes his eyes shut, savoring, remembering as he languidly laps at her cunt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mouth finds her clit quickly, her muscles tightening as his lips wrap around the still sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking gently. His name falls from her lips in a wanting sigh, and he feels his heart twist in his chest at the sound. And he thinks again how much he's missed her; not just for this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How much he's missed being close to her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She throws her head back, arching off of the bed as he brings a finger up to slide into her, slowly pumping in and out to match with his pace on her clit. The muscles in her thighs twitch as she tries to keep from closing around him—though Peter doesn't mind. He's too lost in her to care. Too lost as he pushes another finger into her, a heat pooling in his stomach at how easily he glides in, how wet she is for him. Too lost in the choked gasps and muffled whines spilling from her lips as he works her heat, as he coaxes her to her release.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She comes with a wet moan of his name, fluttering around his fingers as they fuck into her, her muscles tightening as she grinds her hips into him, Peter's grip firm as he tries desperately to pull her closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he continues, even as she falls from her high, his tongue flattening as he licks a stripe up her center, reveling in the new wetness from her orgasm. She gasps, her body jolting as he circles her swollen clit, the fingers that were inside of her now digging into her thigh, holding it down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's when he looks up, and their eyes meet, that Peter's hit with reality again, wondering how much longer they have, wondering what happens after today. He falters, but his heart seems to stop when she holds one of her hands out, intertwining her fingers with his, squeezing as he buries his head between her thighs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her next orgasm comes in a rolling wave, her body careening with the gentle ebb and flow as it pulses through her body, a shaky sigh spilling from her parted lips. Peter's mouth slows on her, pulling back only just to leave achingly slow kisses along her heat, not wanting to end just yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But her hands move to his shoulders, dragging him up to capture his lips into a searing kiss as she cups his face. She exhales shakily against him, her thumb smoothing over the edge of his cheekbone, a gesture that sets an ache in Peter's lungs. If only he could swap chests with her, just so she could see how he felt. So she could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> how he felt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Michelle does feel it, the tightness in her chest as he kisses her slowly, tenderly, months of pent up emotion from his lips. It's at the softness of his touch as his fingers brush over her arm, down to her waist, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She can feel his rapid heart hammering against his ribs, the twitch of his muscles under her fingertips, his hardness pressing into her bare thigh as his lips move with hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's then that she needs him more than ever before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Peter—" She breathes, breaking the kiss. "Want you inside me. Fuck—need you inside me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn't tease, nodding against her neck as he sits back, his hands fumbling with the waistband of his sweats before she extends a hand out to help. She watches as he kicks them somewhere in the room, her gaze drifting between his face and his cock. She doesn't dare look at the clock on the bedside table, not wanting to know what time it is as he slowly crawls back over her, her lips instinctively searching for his when his face reaches hers. The warm weight of his erection pressing into her hip elicits a breathy hum from her, and she reaches down, her fingers trailing over his stomach before taking him into her hand, swiping a thumb over his tip and swirling his arousal as she starts to pump him languidly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fuck, Em—" Peter curses as he nuzzles into her skin, his staggering breath hot against her neck as she works him over. "God, yes. Just like that." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though his face is buried in the crook of her neck, she can see his expression vividly as she closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling of her fingers wrapped around him; his eyes screwed shut, lip caught between his teeth as he tries to keep himself steady, the bright pink flush of his cheeks as he mutters filthy praises—all of it making her almost forget her words from just a few minutes ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels him tense, the sharp twitching of his muscles as he gets so incredibly close before he's tugging her hand away, smashing his mouth to hers as he takes over, pumping himself as he prises her legs even further apart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their heartbeats are unbearably loud, both of them wondering if the other can hear, as he starts to guide himself to her center, when a knock on the front door shatters the heady silence of the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Shit," Peter hangs his head, stilling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle sighs, frustration bubbling up within her feeling the heat of him so close to her, yet not touching. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stay silent, hoping that whoever's at the door gives up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But another beat passes, and the knock is louder, more insistent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We better…" Peter trails off, still catching his breath, as he seems to get lost in staring at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll get that," Michelle offers, an uncharacteristic shake to her voice. "You can wait…" She glances down to his painfully hard erection, an awkward smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she breathes out a huff of laughter. "Uh—wait here."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter nods, biting his lip as he climbs off of her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another series of knocks come from the door, followed by the muffled yet unmistakable voices of Ned and Betty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's a rush as MJ jumps from the bed, grabbing the closest t-shirt and shorts she can find and tugging them on. The wood floors are cool under her feet as she tiptoes into the living room, fingers playing with the hem of her shorts. She pauses, steeling herself, taking a breath, before opening the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey guys," she says slowly, squinting as the morning sun nearly blinds her. "What's up?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smiles on her friends' faces as they look at her put her on edge. Betty's especially. "We were gonna go out for breakfast in a bit—if you wanna join!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah?" Michelle asks, her face scrunching in confusion. "What time is it right now?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Uh…" Ned glances down at his watch. "Almost nine." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She runs a tired hand over her face, blowing a harsh puff of air out through her lips. "Cool." A beat barely passes before she's nodding, arms folding across her chest. "Yeah. Yeah, we'll be there." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their smiles stay, widening even. Ned cranes his neck forward, peeking into the living room behind her. "Where </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Shower," MJ lies without a second thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something in the way the two of them glance at each other tells Michelle everything she needs to know; they don't believe her. But frankly, she's not sure if she cares right now. Or at all. Honestly, it's a good thing if they know. But still, reality has reared its ugly head again, reminding her that this time she has with Peter is dwindling. Sure, there's the possibility that this won't end here in Hawaii, but…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She's not willing to take that chance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They have an entire week to make up for. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A beat passes, all three of them just standing in silence. She presses her lips together into a thin smile, nodding as she starts to close the door. "See you… In an hour."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns, leaning back against the cool wood, closing her eyes, and taking a breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she returns to the room, Peter's already pulled his sweatpants back on, a lingering sense of quiet disappointment and a missed chance hanging between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ned and Betty?" He asks, pulling a black t-shirt over his head, a nervous edge to his voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She swallows, nodding slowly. "Yeah. They're… Going out for breakfast. Said we could join them." A beat passes, her eyes meeting his for a moment before she tears them away, gesturing lamely to the clock on the bedside table. "I guess we should go… instead of..."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn't finish her thought. It's not as if she needs to. Both of them know what she's implying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter nods, his lips twisting in disappointment. "Yeah… We should... I guess—" His voice stops short when their eyes meet again, lingering. His hands twitch at his sides, aching to just reach out and touch her, to grab her and hold her close, to continue what they'd started. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Uh-huh," Michelle manages, fingers drumming at her sides. It feels as if that hour's passed before either of them move. A somber smile tugs at her lips and she huffs out a laugh, ducking her head as she starts to aimlessly gather her clothes strewn about the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter clears his throat, clapping his hands together as he makes for the door into the living room, pausing in the archway to look back for a moment as she fumbles through loose shirts and shorts and dresses in her suitcase. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's a pang in his chest, though not a bad kind. It has a hint of warmth, a small glimmer of hope as he grabs the pile of his clothes he'd thrown when rifling through his suitcase, dumping them back in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But his mind stays with her in her room, dwelling on how close they'd been before they'd been interrupted. Wishing that he could go back in time and just convince her to ignore Ned and Betty, even if only for a little bit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's as they're walking to the door, both of them dressed, both of them as nervous as they were when they were in highs school, that Peter doesn't realize he voices these thoughts. "Sucks," he starts with a shaky huff of laughter, feeling himself blush as she looks over to him. "That we, uh, didn't get a chance to… make up for the week. Just then. You know?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instantly, she catches his meaning, biting the inside of her cheek as she chuckles breathily. "Yeah."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's okay. I mean, we have time." He coughs, mentally kicking himself for not being able to sound like a normal human being. "Uh, and—" He waffles a bit, weighing his thoughts. "—We can make up for it… in other ways." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Like?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs—almost bashful—a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "We could just… enjoy the beach. Get some coffee. Some lunch. You know. We could—" The way his eyes light up makes her feel warm, her brain to turn fuzzy. "—We could watch the sunset. Stay up late. Our flight isn't till eleven tomorrow—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"—Ten," MJ corrects with a slow grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter easily matches her shy expression. "Ten. Right. So… Uh—" He scratches the back of his neck, smoothing down the barely dry curls. "What do you say?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks at him a moment, unable to control the way her face warms, the way her stomach flips at the wide-eyed, nervous expression on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," MJ says finally, her voice soft as she glances down at her feet. "That'd be nice."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His airy smile makes her chest flutter, and she bites back her own grin as she turns to open the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without another word, they step out into the warm Hawaiian sun and closing the door behind them. The short walk to Ned and Betty's is spent in silence, comfortable and quiet, though there's an electricity when his hand brushes hers, neither one of them moving away from the touch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The newlyweds don't say anything, only exchanging all too knowing glances that aren't the least bit subtle as Peter catches one of the pockets of MJ's bag falling open, zipping it up for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two of them seem to know better than that, keeping their mouths shut—at least about anything concerning Peter and MJ—as they head to the small cafe. It feels like the first day should have, the skip in her chest not coming from the dread of the days to come. No, it's different. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, it brings a sense of frustration, and she's reminded how it didn't have to be as terrible as it had been. That had they been able to talk at the beginning of all of this, that this could have been the whole week. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she pushes the thought aside, deciding not to dwell on it as Peter holds the door open for them, offering her a small smile as she passes in front of him. The hostess smiles warmly, and they barely have time to react before Ned's answering the age-old question with a</span>
  <em>
    <span> booth</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter slides in next to MJ, his knee pressing gently against hers for a moment before he's instantly pulling it away. But she can't help herself; she smiles, holding up her menu, quietly knocking her knee to his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It almost feels odd, being so casually forward with him. It comes so naturally, so much so that it makes her chest tighten. It's familiar, comforting, this dynamic with him, and she can't help but think how much she's missed it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She barely notices when the server's come to take their orders, startling when the table turns to her, waiting expectantly—only then, she realizes that she has no idea what she wants. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, besides—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll have the berry french toast," she finds herself saying, handing the menu over, her heart climbing into her throat when Peter's gaze meets hers for a fleeting second. She doesn't miss the small, timid smile playing on his lips as he looks up at her again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she certainly doesn't miss the way Ned and Betty share glances from the corner of her eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It feels so normal, almost too normal, and she's struck again by how much she's missed this. How much she's missed </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Something tugs at her chest, feeling the warmth of his leg press against hers, and she finds that she so desperately wants to lean into him, to hold his hand under the table like some lovesick teenager. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she holds back. It's scary, not knowing where exactly they stand. Yes, they've established that they still care for one another, that there's still that </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> between them. This morning has more than proved that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet, none of that was to say what would happen next. What would happen once they were home. Would her home be his again? Was this </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> exclusive only to their vacation? It's the thoughts like these that set a gnawing pit in her stomach, making it harder and harder to enjoy her tea and breakfast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It continues still, bubbling just under the surface, even as the bill is paid and the tip is left, even as they leave the small cafe and walk the streets of Waikiki. Ned and Betty walk ahead of them, their intertwined hands hanging loosely between them, lightly swinging back and forth as they walk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She dares a glance at Peter beside her, wondering what would happen if their knuckles were to brush, the slightest of touches. What would happen if she were to reach out, locking her pinky with his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter seems to answer for her, keeping his gaze forward as his hand cautiously reaches out to hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's a hesitation as she takes it, an uncertainty as she interlocks their fingers together. But there's a comfort to it, feeling his palm pressed against hers. It's so small a gesture, so little a touch, but it's enough to make her heart flutter in her chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If either Ned or Betty notices when they look back, they don't say anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle doesn't hide how her lips curve into a small smile when she feels his hand squeeze hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The beach isn't as crowded as it's been the past few days; surprising, considering that it's nearly three o'clock on a Saturday. An early afternoon of perusing shops, lunch, and the occasional tiki bar on the boardwalk—MJ realizing her hand only leaving Peter's a grand total of five times—leads into a quiet midday on the sand. Felicia, Liz, Miles, and Gwen have already set up a spot in the far corner, generous space between them and the rest of the tourists. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Flash joins them soon after, pulling a bottle of expensive or cheap champagne—honestly, none of them can tell the difference—and flutes from the cooler, demanding that they can toast the newlyweds another time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It also happens to be a not-so-subtle request that everyone gets drunk on their last day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's a warming chorus of laughter and stories about Ned and Betty as they all drink, and it feels good to be able to truly revel in all of the happiness going around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There happens to be another bottle in that cooler of Flash's, and it's gone just as quickly as the first. He's bold, a true lightweight just off his first glass, challenging a game of beach volleyball by chucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>said ball </span>
  </em>
  <span>right at Peter, laughing in surprise when he—of course—catches it effortlessly before jumping up from his spot on the blanket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle stays behind, happy to continue reading—at least attempting to, the warm buzz of alcohol tingling—as everyone else gets up. Something tugs in her stomach when Peter turns to look at her as he walks away, and her eyes are drawn to the way the muscles in his back flex as he moves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm really happy for you guys," Ned's voice derails her thoughts, and she startles, nearly dropping her book. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What?" She asks, playing dumb, a warmth blooming in her chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though it doesn't do any good. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned only smiles, shrugging as he turns to join the others. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And unsurprisingly, she doesn't get any reading done, too distracted watching everyone diving into the sand, laughing and yelling as they bounce the ball back and forth. After each play, Peter's constantly looking back at her, lips pressing into a small smile every time she meets his gaze. She doesn't know who wins or even how either team is doing; she can't seem to hear anything at all when she's watching him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not the high-pitched laughter from children playing in the water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not the sound of the waves moving with the shore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her book is forgotten as the afternoon wears on, as Peter somehow convinces her to get in the water. It's funny how that works, how she can be so easily swayed by him. Though, it's definitely thanks to the help of Ned—at least this time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there's only the slightest hint of regret when they get into a splashing fight, when they all nearly lose their footing as a taller wave shoves them back. Peter easily catches her, keeping her from falling face-first into the wet sand, his arm curled around her waist, hand splayed across her stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shivers, not from the light ocean breeze. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The feeling persists into the early evening, as others start to leave, heading back to their hotel rooms. It's dwindled back to just the four of them—Ned and Betty cuddled up as they enjoy a picnic they'd prepared earlier. Peter seems distracted, his replies and laughs delayed as if stuck in his own mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His chuckle is breathy, nervous, as he scratches the back of his neck. "Haven't seen Paulina and Brad all day," he jokes. "Wonder what they're doing."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned's laugh is surprised, hiding it behind a cough as Betty answers with a very telling tip of her head and raised brows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"She texted earlier saying that Brad was 'helping her through her hangover,'" she replies, grimacing slightly. "So—" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah…" Ned says slowly, a giggle bubbling just underneath the surface.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't think… </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>…" Peter says slowly, brow furrowed in thought. "I supposed to help…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>MJ doesn't realize she's smiling herself until Peter looks at her, smiling back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm sure she meant IV therapy," Ned says with a straight face. "Nothing else."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, if the IV's Brad's dick, sure," MJ deadpans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart soars, hearing Peter's burst of laughter—along with Ned and Betty, sure—at that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"God, MJ, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please!"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Betty nearly cries, slumping herself into Ned's shoulder, trying desperately to forget what she's just heard. "I need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get away</span>
  </em>
  <span> from here." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She's still laughing despite herself, shaking her head as she stands, pulling Ned behind her to the edge of the shore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And for the first time since this morning, they're alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle's sure that Peter can hear her heart racing, that he can almost feel that her breathing's changed. And it's then, that she starts to question things. How can this still work? How can they go back to what it was before when so much bad had happened? There are still too many questions on her mind, too many doubts, and she feels as if they're going to swallow her completely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thoughts bring back the persistent gnawing in her gut, a sharp pain gripping her chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I—uh," He pauses, reaching back to smooth over the curls on the nape of his neck. "I'm gonna… take a walk. Wanna come with?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oddly enough, the nervousness in her tone does help to put her at ease in some way. That she's not alone, at least. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter wordlessly offers his hand as he gets up, and she takes it without question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walk together, hand in hand, along the shore. The sky's turned a darker blue now, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon. And it's calm, a sense of peace hanging on the air as the waves gently lap at the shore, foam tickling their feet as it just reaches them. There's a cool breeze, the sand under their feet still warmed from the sun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter's hand squeezes hers. "This has been…" He sighs, his thumb drawing lines on her skin. "Really nice."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle looks down at her feet as they continue walking, biting the inside of her lip. "Yeah. It has."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A beat passes, neither of them speaking, but something stays between them. Something still unsaid. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Peter can't take it anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's been waiting all day for this, wanting to do nothing but </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> to her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"MJ, I—" His sigh is shaky as he runs a hand through his hair, stopping. He struggles to find the words, losing himself in the thick forest of his mind. Being with her today was eye-opening. He's seen what this week could have been. What the past three months could have been.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I've been such an idiot."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she finds herself laughing lightly. "Me, too."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter shakes his head, letting out a somber chuckle. "No, but I've been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge</span>
  </em>
  <span> idiot. I was so obsessed with trying to get over you by being a dick—so obsessed with proving that I wasn't still in love with you, I just—" He shrugs. "I wasted this whole fucking week."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she only hangs onto a few of those words, her mouth parted as she looks at him. "You're still in love with me?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughs again as if it's obvious. "Yeah. Still am. Of course." He takes her other hand, too, holding them tight. "I never stopped." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I—" Her voice breaks, though her eyes never leave his. And for a moment, he wonders if this isn't what she wants, if he'd somehow again misread everything. But then, she smiles, and he feels the wave of relief wash over him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"—I still love you, too." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He breathes out a smile, leaning in to kiss her, but she stops him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But—I…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels his heart leap into his throat, constricting.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't know, Pete. I mean—" She tears her gaze from his, untangling her hands from his, looking out at the ocean in front of them, watching the waves as they lap the shore. "We still… We still want different things. I—" Then, she shakes her head. "I still don't know… how I feel about… about marriage, you know? And… I love you, more than anything…" Despite the shaking in her voice and the hollowness in her chest, those words have never felt more natural. "...and if there's anyone I'd even consider marrying, it's you. But—" She looks down at her hands, fingers toying together, struggling to keep her chin from wobbling. Her throat is dry as she speaks. "I'm still scared. I don't want to get hurt again. I don't want to hurt </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> again. I don't want you to feel like you're waiting around for me to make up my mind." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's then that Peter puts his hand on her shoulder, turning her to him. He cups her cheek, his thumb tenderly smoothing over her skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"MJ, I would rather be happily unmarried with you for the rest of my life than not be with you at all." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She's at a loss for words, lips parted as she searches his expression for any hesitation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She finds none. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And… I think we </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> want the same thing," he says earnestly. "We'll make it work. I don't—I don't know how, but… I wanna figure this out. With you. Together. And—I wanna be with you, Em. I wanna wake up next to you every day. I love you—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's cut short by her lips capturing his, her arms wrapping around his neck, his own coiling around her waist and pulling her close. And he kisses her, pouring all of the words he couldn't say into it. He knows this is going to be hard. There's no doubt about it. What they've been through, what they've said and done to each other isn't easy to bounce back from. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's going to take work, and he knows this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he doesn't care how long it takes, what he has to do to keep this alive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All he knows for now is that he'll never let her go again. He'll always hold her tighter, he'll kiss her longer, he'll embrace her as he will each and every second. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's an airy smile on her lips as she pulls back, and he can see the beginnings of tears brimming in her eyes. "I love you, too."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's all a blur, the walk from the beach to their condo. They barely say anything to Ned and Betty as they pass, muttering an excuse about needing to clean up before check-out tomorrow. It's half-true, but Peter can't wait any longer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it's funny, when they get back, when they close the door behind them and that echoing </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span> hangs on the air, how seemingly shy they've both become as they actually start to clean up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes less time than they'd thought gathering all of their things; clothes, toiletries. They make sure that the condo looks like it did on day one; counters free of crumbs and spills, dishes washed. That's the part Peter finds himself enjoying, stealing glances to Michelle as she dries the wet plates, bowls, and utensils he hands to her, as she puts them away, his eyes drawn to the way her shirt rides up when she reaches for the top shelf. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The comfort that comes from doing something so domestic with her—washing dishes, cleaning a kitchen—is almost strange, given how he hasn't felt this </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span> in three months. It's foreign, but entirely welcome. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's a rush, feeling her own fleeting glances burn into him, seeing the way she bites the inside of her lip when he catches her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn't waste another second as she puts the last bowl away, his hands on her hips, spinning her to face him, crashing his lips to hers in a searing kiss. Relief floods him as her mouth moves with his, her hands tugging him closer, coiling into his hair as she always loves to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands come down to her thighs, tapping once, encouraging her to wrap them around his waist as he picks her up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure, there's some danger in carrying her to the bedroom like this, but Peter finds that he can't actually care about that; the only thing he can think about right now is the feel of her soft skin under his hands, her soft whines as he deepens the kiss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He carefully drops her onto the bed, pulling his shirt over his head, his sweatpants down before climbing on top of her, his hands instantly moving to hold onto her hips, to smooth over her sides, sliding underneath the hem of her shirt. His lips find hers again, tongue slipping into her mouth, and he sighs into the kiss at the instant wave of relief he feels. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her palm presses into his chest, drifting down his stomach, toying with the waistband of his sweats, Peter unconsciously pressing himself against her with a low, breathy moan at the touch. His hand wars with the fabric of her shirt, and he breaks the kiss long enough to help her tug it over her head, tossing it somewhere in the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The softness of her skin is dizzying, and he breathes her in, head falling into the crook of her neck, lips kissing and nipping as he trails the line of her throat down to her collarbone. "God, MJ—" He whispers, his tongue dragging over the swell of her breast. He's already achingly hard, unable to keep himself from grinding against her as she writhes underneath him, soft moans spilling from her lips. "I've missed you so much."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands move on their own accord, tugging her shorts and underwear down, helping her kick them off the rest of the way before tossing them aside. They move up and down her thighs, digging into her skin as he prises them further apart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I've missed you too—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her gasp as his index finger trails up the inside of her thigh, teasing her entrance, makes his ears burn, the tips turning a bright shade of pink. He releases a shaky breath, feeling her warm arousal drown his finger, groaning at how easily he slides in. Only the one, then two. Her muscles twitch as he curls into her, pumping in and out lazily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle's hand reaches down to grab his wrist, guiding him, her jaw slack as he continues to fuck her with just his fingers, her other hand slipping down to scrub at her clit. A whine slips out of her as he shifts the angle, her grip on him tightening, nails leaving faint crescents in his skin. "Fuck, yes. Right there. Peter—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls back from his place on her neck, looking down at her coming undone below him, his mouth tugging into a faint smile at the bliss in her expression, the hazy blush in her cheeks, the way her chest heaves with each breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She comes with a silent, choked gasp, her head thrown back, her eyes screwed shut. His lips find hers again, gentle as he continues to pump in and out of her, his pace slowing as his thumb swirls her arousal over her clit. He smiles into the kiss when she inhales shakily at the warm wetness, sensitive as she comes down from her high. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she pulls away, whimpering into his shoulder when he picks up his pace again. "Please, Peter—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slows again, his other hand gentle as it tenderly smooths over her waist down to her hip, thumb rubbing circles into her skin. "MJ," he whispers hotly into her cheek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Please—" She repeats, her voice low and soft. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What is it, Em?" He asks, kissing her temple, trailing to her forehead as he works her heat. "What do you need?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mouth hangs open, no sound coming out as he increases his pressure on her swollen clit. She clings to him, wanting him impossibly close. When she finally speaks, her voice is raw, tugging at his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"You."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's the only answer he needs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swears he almost hears her breathless, dreamy chuckle at how quickly he kicks off his sweatpants and boxers, how ready he is as he languidly pumps himself in his hand. The sound is muffled as he kisses her again, his mouth hot and wanting as it moulds so perfectly with hers, his heart soaring as she rests a hand on his cheek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His low groan is cut off as he lines himself up with her entrance, gathering her wetness and coating himself, muscles tensing with each swipe, and he stills, expression contorting as he holds himself back, his arms shaking as he holds himself up above her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We need a—" He winces as she hastily rolls her hips to meet his, grinding over him. "—a condom."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ah—" She gasps, shaking her head, eyes screwed shut as she focuses on the friction. "Shit, I think I packed them up." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nice," Peter finds it in himself to joke, albeit it's in between breaths, but still. A joke. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles, eyes still closed. "Shut up."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it's the normalcy in that sentence that makes his vision blur, his chest warm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opens his mouth to speak, to offer to get up and look for them, as much as it would pain him to climb off of her, to not be touching her, but she stops him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's fine. I'm—" She hisses as he stills. "—I'm on the pill. I haven't… been with anyone else."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Me neither," Peter replies, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his lips. His brows knit together as he searches her expression, hand smoothing back the curls that had fallen over her face. "You sure?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him down to press her lips to his. "Yes," she breathes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Please."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groans into the kiss, surging forward, bringing her body flush against his. Greedy hands pull and push into her as he gets lost in the softness of her lips, how every touch elicits pretty gasps and moans to fall from them. Reaching down to pump himself again, now coated in her slick, he presses his forehead against hers, their breath mingling as he pushes into her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sense of </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> is almost overwhelming, Peter's fingers digging into her hips as he steadies himself, Michelle's jaw slacks as he fills her so </span>
  <em>
    <span>well.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It's the feeling of closeness that's almost enough to push him over the edge, the feeling of nothing between them, taking him back three months in time. His vision blurs again, and he has to turn his head to the side, gathering himself as she adjusts to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His name comes out in a pleading sigh, urging him on as her legs wrap around him. He swears that she's some sort of divine being, given how he sees stars the second he starts to move in and out of her, the way she clenches around him almost immediately. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fuck—" He breathes, burying his face in her neck, his hips faltering slightly. "God, MJ, you're so </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect."</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels the vibration of her hum through his lips on her neck, sucking and licking along the column of her throat. His pace quickens, each roll of his hips snapping into hers. Her body melts against his, and he reaches down, hiking one of her legs up higher, holding it in place as he fucks into her, the new angle causing her eyes to roll back, fluttering shut as he brushes against </span>
  <em>
    <span>that spot</span>
  </em>
  <span> so easily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes. Fuck, Peter—</span>
  <em>
    <span>yes."</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands cling to him, nails digging into his muscled back, cursing again as he rests her leg on his shoulder, his hand snaking down to circle her clit, scrubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves, matching his pace with each thrust. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she moans without abandon underneath him, looking breathtakingly beautiful as she takes him. The pooled heat in the pit of his stomach starts to run over, his muscles tightening, flexing as he holds himself back, wanting her to come first. His pressure on her clit increases, his rhythm stuttering as she seizes around him again, crying out. With another tilt of her hips, his thrusts deepen, his name mixed with a string of curses falling from her lips as she gasps. Her body stiffens, muscles shaking as she comes with a breathy moan, the feeling of her coming undone, bringing him not soon after. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His pace is messy as he chases his release, the roll of his hips lazy, his grip on her tight as he comes. He gently puts her leg back down, nearly collapsing on top of her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They lay there for more than a moment, lost in the afterglow, breathing heavily, Peter's hands drawing faint lines on her waist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gentle touch of her hand on his cheek draws him to look at her, his heart twisting at the overwhelming affection in her gaze. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I love you," she croaks. "I'm sorry." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there's nothing he can do as his eyes burn, filling with unshed tears. "I love </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> he replies earnestly, kissing her cheek. "I'm sorry."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulls him to her, kissing him tenderly before tearing herself away, getting up from the bed and heading to the bathroom as Peter cleans up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when she returns moments later, she crawls back into his arms, sighing into him as he holds her close. He rests his head on top of hers over his heart, listening as it slows, lulling her to a comfortable sleep. And for once, there's no ache in Peter's chest. No tugging and twisting at his stomach. He breathes easily, nestling into her curls as he starts to drift off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She mumbles something sleepily into his skin, something he almost can't quite make out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it sounds a lot like, "I love you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's a softness tickling his cheek, the warmth of her hand resting over his. He doesn't dare open his eyes as he turns his head, the feeling of hers resting on his shoulder as she sleeps soundly beside him, so close, making his heart soar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter doesn't think he's ever been happier waking up at nearly seven in the morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He still doesn't open his eyes, his lips immediately finding their way to her curls, down to her forehead. She shifts, murmuring as she shakes her head, somehow making his smile widen even more when she buries herself in the crook of his neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her breath tickles as she huffs out a laugh, but he finds himself only holding her closer, reveling in the feeling of her skin, soft with sleep under his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's a good feeling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Attention, passengers!"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gate agent's chipper voice barely registers over the soft music playing in Peter's headphones—he's not even sure what's playing exactly; he can't really hear anything else at all. Especially not when he only has eyes and ears for the girl right next to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>MJ's hand is warm in his, her thumb drawing a soft line over his skin as they look at something on her phone—again, he's not really looking at anything else but her. And although she doesn't look, he knows that she can see him. It's that sixth sense of hers. The one he's learned about in all of their time being friends, being together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She's just observant like that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she does catch him, finally meeting his gaze, a shy smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Need something?" She asks, mouth pressing into a thin line to keep her smile from growing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's that same warmth in his chest, buzzing happiness making him almost see double. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And with it, there's seeing the road they have ahead, the work they still have to do. The conversations they still have to have. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But honestly, there's comfort, knowing that it will all be with her. Together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They'll do better this time. They'll make each other better, the best versions of themselves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn't know how, but he does. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it's the way she squeezes his hand when he smiles at her. Or the way she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. How she looks at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's the way she loves him, he decides. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hand rests on top of their joined ones, his smile growing, lopsided and warm—the slightest bit dopey. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Again, thank you all so much for reading. It means the world to me. &lt;3</p>
<p>thank u for letting me do it to 'em</p>
<p>u know i had to</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ahhhhhhhh okay what did you think?? Are you ready for these idiots to be PETTY</p>
<p>Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this first chapter! I always love comments and kudos!! I love to see what y'all think!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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